We have managed to ticket

(and hashtag stamp)

this papertrail snarled

through first class forests.

 

Send the bill

along with your air,

squeezing lungs

for moisture.

 

Each 10ȼ envelope

twice as stuck

and only 4ȼ extra with gum.

 

Charges are written

on the backs

of every piece

we can collect.

 

Tally up each word’s cost

in the margin:

separately boxed

for environment, labour, time commitment.

 

More lines to note

when we collate

the toll of this,

our shared task.

 

We could have really been

doing something better.

Dishes won’t biodegradably wash

themselves, you know.

Organic darning cotton

does not grow on trees.

 

The run-off gathers at our feet,

puddling like coats spread

for the wrong path.

We have found the cause,

but not the culprit

behind our hands.

 

Leave your inflatable

transportation costs

at the recycling floor;

it is the pen plastic

that will ruin this whole thing.

Our dirty little secret

eating the world

one nib-ble at a time.

 

 

 

On the accompanying audio recording above, the poem is read by Antonia Pont.