We are molecules of water
clothed in synthetic tweeds

as a freight train
assembles itself
one car at a time

You may call this sandwich ‘crap’
but I call it ‘polyethyline’

We stretch, grow weaker then fall apart
Our bones like bottles, an easy cremation:

Returned containers boiled
to birth automobiles, ghosts
of teenage lipstick gone

up the smokestack, dashboards melting
into backseats to make more baby
pacifiers for the end of time,

a politician promising the moon

As long as there’s crude oil, they’ll be
a billion artificial legs to stand on,
nylon glistening in the sun

with its spinnerette rays…