Suva Harbour-1984
p. 78 · Read in the full issue
By John Beasant
Tiny bits of paper on the waters of the bay Multi-coloured oil slicks that ripple on their way Sticky floating pancakes of decomposing food Writhing snakes of frothing scum that sewage pipes have spewed Listen to the gasping as a fish begins to drown From breathing in the rubbish that’s discarded from a town.
Tiny bits of soot enclosed in falling drops of rain Woolly puffs of pretty smoke that billow from a train Filthy clouds of flying muck in oranges and greens Toxic gases given off by power drive machines Watch the falling of a bird as it begins to choke After entering an opaque mass of thick industrial smoke.
Tiny little world becoming dirtier every day Destined for a colour change from green and blue to grey Silent ball of rubble flying through the universe Mutely becoming evidence of homosapiens course, And at that landscaped rubbish there will stare a haggard face An insane man, the last survivor of the human race.
Suva harbour, 1973