A Slow Decline
A Slow Decline
Farmers wake, farm their fields.
Their wives tend hearth and home,
chickens, pull milk from cows,
slop the pigs. Fishermen struggle
against fleets of slowly departing
commercial ships, haul in smaller
catches of ever-smaller fish.
But entangled seals barbed in wire
loosely fit, don’t care, burgeon
swollen into a razor sharp ring
cuts through flippers, neck, and tail,
chokes, slowly amputates does
an ostentatious necklace
flashy, glinting beneath a grayish
overly hot and hazing sun,
an aftermath of plastic, fish hooks,
fossil fuel blackened air, and tons
and tons of rank and raw sewage.
Copyright © Brian Ji | Year Posted 2023
|