Someday one day soon,
once my hands aren’t oil-pruned,
once the grinding has at last ceased,
the shaven craters will not repair themselves
and the Earth will know our knees.
Someday one day soon,
we’ll kiss the dirt we’ve made an alloy,
cry to skies we’ve made a mess.
My hands will reach to ground themselves
and find there’s nothing left.
Someday, one day
will strike upon us as it justly should
and speak to us these hallowed words;
“I am not your god and I am not your king,
I am what came first.”
Someday, one day,
we will be hurt as we have hurt,
be killed as we have killed,
hear the gnash of greedy teeth,
and heave with our never-empty stomachs.
Soon
we will know what we have done,
retch upon raped soil, shoulders bowed,
but will not unhear the rasping,
will not unknow the bloat.
On that one day
some day
soon.