Liquid coursed through
mountain arteries for centuries,
lubricated the bones
of dinosaurs—Bronto-Quaker,
Saura—Sinclair, Tyrannna—Penz.
Foul, sickening to drink,
could kill you, awful smell.
What use?
Lube for wheels, catapults,
all things squeaking,
once competing with whales.
In recent history,
rapacious use, propelled us
to huge advancements
in rich countries,
petro-chemical empires.
Humans acted human,
greased the skids of history.
We privileged, oil beneficiaries—
friends world-wide, grand vacations,
money to earn as fast as we burn.
Poor Earth: No one asked you
whether to use the ooze.
Drill on, drill deep,
lubricate history to our perdition.
The wheels on the bus
go round and round,
jets zoom, boats motor,
tanks roll, cars speed,
fast enough to crash.
Originally published in Down In The Dirt Magazine