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.