The Plastic Men

We have left our mark
in the gouged earth
in the scoured reef
on the slicked beach
in the tunnelled earth

in the ragged breath of townsfolk

but they will pass.

Earth will reclaim, refill, cleanse
change utterly
but eons will pass
before the plasticmen
will relinquish their hold.

The drift and pull of moon-tide
will roil and tangle their flimsy grip
but not escape

they smother
they twine and twist
their granules lodge in secret places
poisoned
by their presence.

On and on
the long-dead plastic men
will grin
and cling.