There is a growing flood of it, a mountain and a wall.
Soon I fear that there will be nothing else at all.
If we do not terminate its profligate production,
bring about the changes that will lead to its reduction,
our entire plastic world will be bought with our blood.
We will face oblivion through fire and through flood.
No air to breathe, no water left to slake our growing thirst.
If we don’t do our best to change, I fear we’ll earn the worst.
The prompt words today from 4 different sites are plastic, flood, oblivion and termination. I think the relationship between these words is so obvious and sinister that I was determined not to pursue that path, but instead to find a more optimistic way to make use of them. I tried all day to find another poem in these words, but I have finally sunk to the inevitable. Let’s hope the world does better. Here’s my poem, about twelve hours later than usual.