Twenty First Century Dinosaur
by Dani Freixas-Pavez
Every lake in my state is manmade;
I ponder,
and nothing is good on the T.V .
anymore. So instead
I thank an intact Boeing for my skin &
eyes & nails & hair
that blows like plastic
in the wind;
spreading its sickness
everywhere.
A blood clot two times the size of
texas, the gargantuan garbage patch breathing in a
romantic summer breeze
blesses me–
and shares with me its
bundle of choking cells
that clatter against
the bus window. My god
is the dancing lithium
angel in the sky, shining down on
copper that glazes over
your face’s
gleaming surface.
You are gone, and all
that remains are the
scraps of coveted oil
you became.
In this way,
we’ve become immortals, I think,
as a box of light’s piercing static
pricks my thumb, ending time.