Poem: Full Circle

According to the label, this plastic jug of water

Came to Los Angeles from New Zealand, where

An artesian spring spews forth artisanal beverages for

Sophisticated folk in search of hydration

Not hubris.

The water got here on a plane or a boat that

Burned a different kind of petroleum product than

What was used to make the bottle.

All of it came from billions of deaths, from trillions of trilobytes

Settling down for eternity in a tarry soup

Within the earth bowl we scoop and slurp and sip,

Probing, poking, prying. Cleaving.

Sensible and somehow right, isn’t it, that this

Plastic jug of agua Kiwi is finally home in the dirt?

Where it belongs?

Shielding vulnerable babies from attack and maybe

Death, inevitable and necessary for them and us and everything that lives

To make more oil for whatever comes next.