Sick of what’s called progress, Earth opened up its shell,
And street cameras, clamps and wardens slithered into hell.
The exorbitant super-loos, the supersonic tucker,
All plastic kissed away with Earth’s tectonic pucker.
The ground feasted fully – topped with a cop car relish –
Then burped up its previous meal, seismically squeamish.
Back came old-style fish and chips, street-sellers’ stirring calls,
Sandcastles with ancient flags, well-tempered herring gulls.
You ask – what of today’s things left deep inside the earth?
They’ll fetch up in the future as tomorrow’s things of worth.
This poem was first published by Everydaypoets.com 2014