15 October 2014

The fetid muck never goes away
It lingers for generations
Once a place of peace and beauty
Nothing now survives the pepto-bismol pit

Bit by bit, by bit
they all succumbed
with searing nostrils, burning lungs
to satisfy our voracious appetite.

Pink lives, sentient and shy,
robbed of their young,
their trusting eyes broken,
their gentle nature plundered.

Here your terror ends --
but mine begins --
where the trail of dead
fouls air and land.

Your while bones littered about.
Your bodies swollen or exploded.
Incomprehensible the deed.

Inconceivable the spill.
Unthinkable the toll,
beneath the odor's first layer.

An unwholesome tang,
insidiously nauseating
and frightening at its core.

Deep-sweet and high-sour.
the effluvium charms only black flies
and bloodthirsty savages.

There are no frogs in this lagoon.
There are no fish in this lagoon.
There is no life in this lagoon.