John Popielaski
Prevailing Winds
The February meeting of the local chapter
of the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement
was at my house, which was lit a bulb
more brightly than it would have been.
The evening’s opening topic was the cloud
of vinyl-chloride vapor murmuring
like starlings toward us from the grave
derailment in East Palestine, Ohio.
Of the four of us, just one had read White Noise.
As usual he wore a sable chevron
on each canvas sleeve to prove
his faith in irony was durable.
What action could we have proposed?
We had no powers of dispersion.
Critics say we traffic in despair.
But we ate hummus sprinkled with paprika.
We drank fruity beer.
We did the natural thing. We hoped
the plume would murmur north of us
or murmur south, but such hope was unjust.
Why shouldn’t it swirl over us?
We talked about how every species
but this version of our own
cooperated naturally with Earth.
We talked about how we would like to leave
no trace when we pass on,
no progeny to make the same mistakes.
But we will leave behind our rubber
soles, our microplastics, contacts,
circuits, countertops, composites, tires
that will make it through an ice age.
We put our jackets on and went
outside to look up at the sky.
A rich man’s string of satellites
outdid the stars, and in the air
the scent of cut hay and chlorine.