We’ve punctured the thin rivers
of her skin, burrowed into every
curve & learned the frantic language
of replication:
yearning,
hunger,
capital,
craving.
But the Earth stirs.
One day she heaves a great sigh
& her antibodies surge from ancient caves
as if to say
enough
& it begins
with a shiver,
a sniffle,
a fever
& it, too,
speaks the language
of haste.
But our wheels keep turning
& our machines keep making
so she turns up the heat until
it creeps into newsfeeds & factories,
shopping malls & pharmacies
spreading
with the restlessness
of nicotine.
We can’t breathe, we cry as our pulse
slows & the fever grows & the frenzied
humans in blue shout Stay home
but it’s too late,
we’re sinking,
flailing
racing
to save
this crippled system
we’ve created
& we’ll do anything,
anything
just to make it go away,
to get moving
& purchasing
& building
& replicating again
anything
to forget
it’s us,
it’s us,
we are the virus.