Life, stuffed into a bag.
A sack of bones, glutinous flesh,
Strings and tubes, blobs of cells,
Lakes of blood, piss, snot and indeterminate goo,
Collections of nails, teeth, cartilage,
A tangled mat of hair.
A determined shake could produce
A cat, a dog, a feral tiger,
A batch of mice, Theodore Roosevelt,
Ostensibly a small rhinoceros,
Or forty bats.
Most of these things still exist.
They quarrel, hunt, kill,
But the world is dying.
Air is going bad.
The sea is full of plastic bags
And polar ice.
Future plans to proliferate
Do not bode well.
It’s high time
To shake the bag again.
To see what emerges.