We are sponge,
soak up your ejaculates,
the filth from phallic towers
you spume across the globe.
We are the crusted walking socks
you keep by your beds, for clean ups.
We get rid of your mess
till you breathe easily again.
We are 3 billion,
an army of 9 countries,
an ecological NATO, if you will.
We take huge portions of emissions
which the land absorbs.
That’s 1 billion tonnes of your cum,
if we stretch the metaphor.
So here’s the thing,
you self-serving pricks of industry;
some tool in Brazil wants to cull us,
to feed more meat to the ones who cause the chaos.
The days of ‘you pitch, we’ll catch’ are over.
Stop spunking up so much,
or soon, we’ll all be fucked.
Mark Connors is a writer from Leeds. He has been widely published in magazines, webzines and anthologies in the UK and overseas. His debut poetry collection, Nothing is Meant to be Broken, was published by Stairwell Books in 2017. He is a managing editor of Yaffle.
For more info visit www.markconnors.co.uk