We have become plastic

Your small digits cling onto my finger.
A rare porcelain, untouched by sun,

Unfixed by slander, you pliable one,
unable to be rigid, I am now undone.

You are able to fit,
jigsawed into our lives
and hang on
in there.

Our role is not designed but innate.
Predisposed against ravages of man.
Yet, plastic cells now inhabit our bodies,
expired from the oceans, digested
from gluttonous overfished plates.

I ask, how much of you, little one, is plastic?
For you are a cumulation of a whole human being,
and you have merely consumed.

We have devoured the product,
from mega-farmed webbed feet.
Crammed those cattle sons,
we steal the veal from pumped mothers,

tubed up, to breastfeed our own babies.

We mould polymers that lose their way,
into this complex chain, from four-can carriers,
polystyrene filled boxes, split beanbag fights,
coffee-lids and cotton buds,
Christmas…