RECYCLING NOTICE We're hollow spraycans, just a breath or two inside, tossed in landfills for a last communion with our screaming kin. Bulldozers growl and crunch our pleated faces into those of other castaways: dog poop, nylons, plastic bags. We yield gasps of potent molecules, muffled whispers, sometimes angry bangs. Around us swirl the silent flames of punctured smoke alarms; at night their radiation goose steps through the landfill's seams, proclaims their half-life reich will rule the globe for fifteen-thousand years.
PET ROCK Only the underestimated understand the power of patience. Gaia chipped her from the core two billion years ago, thrust her toward the light; she steered to the planet's skin, reposed in silence for six-million swoops around a slightly straining sun. When a highway clattered by she crouched on the roadside, beamed to every passing being: You an engineer? Finally she received a Yes- and signaled Take me home with you! The man paused til his brain decoded What a gorgeous stone, the very thing to tame those papers on my desk! Now she hunkers by his modem, seizes waves- solar, sound, magnetic- and stacks them in her cells of silicon and quartz. As do cousins round the globe, she stores megabytes of life, waits til human sounds fall silent and it's time to sing her song.