Shake Hands Climate – A Sputnik Poem

 

Run, Sputniks, Run

Sputnik says:

“Close your eyes,
people live suspiciously in ajax-houses
with isolated odors
and refuse to talk to each other about it.
It does not look good, folks. Push the sunglasses back down.
‘Hi, hello, it is just as much to hell now, as always,
maybe even worse.’

The dangerous disease Disintegration Syndrome
infects everyone mostly by touch.
And the remains are extremely infectious.
A body part is suddenly disintegrated
and turns into a lump of puffy grease
in the middle of the clean linoleum floor.
Run, Sputniks, run.

The little country will finally been flooded with soapy water,
washed out of the hot world map. Wiped out with a rag of a gigantic wave.
And all so-called Danes will have left
because fucking Old Denmark no longer exists.
“So remember to the shake hands,
this last minute,
before the climate turns into a roasting hot horror-show.”   

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