by B. Anne Adriaens
A prefab dream fed by Nestlé – compulsory
joy catching at times – imitates life in plastic,
greying and weathering in an attempt
to fit in with the shrubs and the dirt.
Acres of canned amusement encroach upon
sweet chestnut, elder, rowan and lime,
their goodness dropping to the ground
for want of approved plastic packaging.
Thousands bare their flesh to the sun’s heat,
munch on roast meat and sweets,
suck on plastic, easily grabbed
and consumed to appease forgotten needs.
Children are willingly corralled
under a canopy of plastic sheeting, grateful
for the illusion, unaware that the world was taken
away from them long before they entered.
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