– Lydia Ann Stern

We’re rounding up

our (plastic)

armies—

our wounded soldiers

with their

bionic           limbs

to our woven queens

stapling       on

their           silicon

breasts

and (plastic) noses.

We keep   their     bodies

on ice/            carbon   dioxide

in preparation

for global

warming (apocalypse).

An age of             rubber (plastic)

will cover the

earth.

The                                                   surgeon

(plastic)

has the    touch          of

(G O D)—

worship in the

factory/operating room/p(p)i(l)n(a)e(s)w(t)o(i)o(c)d box.

Melt down the

ashes

into

(plastic) toy guns

for our      children.