Humans are pollution.

I see cancer everywhere.
What happened to the sounds
of echoing laughter of
children playing?
And ffp-ffp of jump rope contests
on the hard ground?
Now the sounds
we hear on our playgrounds
are a series of blips, beeps
from the digital boxes
powered by batteries
that will leak acid
into our landfills
and carcenogize our ground.
We're all victims villians
of our History
and our Now of careless waste,
of chemical trash.
We drink after each other
and taste the lipstick
of the human moster before.
It tastes like whales
and baby seals
and oil
and garbage.
We fear a disease
that has gotten so
out of control
that we can't prevent it.
We could have then, but
We're lazy bastards.
I don't point my dry fingers
because I am part
of Mother Earth's ache.
I pollute her purity with fuel
and carelessly disposed of trash
not thinking or not caring
because I am human.
My race wants to own
and doesn't respect.
And I think of one lost puzzle piece
and wonder if what little change I make
will really avert the integrity
of the cancerous picture.
I drive down the country road
in my gasoline powered Toyota
to work in a building
stuffed with hundreds of computers
and see the running cow
and sob at the image of me
stopping that joyful cow
and taking a bite from her flesh
or chase a clueless hen
and gnaw her breast
stopping her contented clucking.
Weep and gag and lament
that I have a part in this--
almost like I condone it.
Mother Earth suffers delivery pains
day after day to produce for us
what we stomp, spit, take for granted.
And our children roll tiny eyes
at respectfulness and good.
Everything is accepted, "okay."
"That's just how she is."
And we pollute what is good and pure,
tangible or not--all is full of cancer.

We sing we're waiting,
Waiting for the World to Change.
If we're all waiting,
nothing will change!
Nothing's going to change our world.
We'll smoke and spill everything
until Mother finally exhausts
of being so forgiving
and loving unconditionally
and watching us kill her
and the babies she gives life;
she'll spin so fast
that we fly off of her face
and are burned to ash
and nothingness
in her atmosphere,
past that hole we made
in her ozone.
And she'll coooool down.

The globe is warm
because we're making her angry.