Your ironed suits,
Always at your best,
And your sons and daughters
Following in your footsteps.
You may be slow on land,
Only waddling.
But in the water,
You
Slice it, dice it, splice it
Away from those land predators
Who call themselves
Experts, Explorers,
Humane.
Their suits crumple within hours
So they
Iron it, starch it, dye it,
Never satisfied until
It’s perfect,
For them.
Filling, wasting, trashing
The Earth
They don’t realize
We live here, too.
And they cage us,
Throw us,
Into a flying machine
And are flown
Across oceans
To San Francisco
Where there are animals
From everywhere
And nowhere.
Slowly all of our suits will disappear,
And they will try to match us
But nature doesn’t answer to anyone.
Farewell, tailored suits
L.C. Anderson High School
9th