FOSSIL FUEL

                                                          The ancients

are giant birds, reptiles living underwater,

razor-toothed fish, ants and dragonflies by the millions.

They are mushrooms with gigantic bodies

that once grew tall as buildings,

right where you’re standing.

Right where you’re standing,

was once the ocean floor of the ancients

when coral reefs began to form, like oceanic buildings.

One day all this will again be underwater,

and under the ocean will be our bodies

trapped for decades, maybe millions.

You pour the bodies of ancients, possibly millions

into the gas tank where you’re standing.

You press thin material to make bags from their bodies

to carry your milk, your lottery tickets and tampons, a daily tradition that feels almost ancient.

You walk as if you are underwater

from the store, to the car, to your buildings.

You use these remains in your buildings.

The uses number in the millions:

your pens and clips, your devices and fuel, your fish tank’s filter, underwater.

You eat your food while standing

until feeling something ancient,

and as you prepare for sleep, you feel heavy in your body.

In sleep, then death, your body

is carried from the buildings

toward the fate of all our ancients.

In time, in eons, maybe millions,

you find yourself standing

on a new ocean floor, underwater.

Your remains are poured into gas tanks, underwater

or pressed to make grocery bags, flat against other bodies.

As a bag, it carries eye makeup remover and hangs for days on a coat stand

before carrying oranges from building to building.

Then you slip into the wind with other bags, with millions

floating like small parachutes, letting go of all that’s ancient.

You slide into drains that lead underwater

far from buildings

toward an ocean filled with bodies

there are millions.

You form a heap of bags, the size of nations, standing

like old soup in the waves, surely something ancient.