Remember when we were young we worried about

polystyrene, aerosol sprays and refrigerants.
I dreamed for five years straight about chlorofluorocarbons

And stratospheric maps of the earth with the ozone hole,

a white cupping, like an optic nerve with glaucoma. 
I cried small tears in the dark in a small room in the suburbs

with three sisters next door who thought about other things.
This hole could be fixed they said if we all agreed to buy

different products. Change our haircare and fast food outlet.
Consumerism

our saving grace

our solace.
It seems so twee to imagine battling just ozone depletion

when there are holes now in almost everything.
In the lists of biota that flourished no longer alive today. 
In the craters left by every mineral mine scraped out of

the earth’s surface.
In the desiccated habitats leaking into palm oil plantations

and soybean crops.
In the emptied aquifers.
In the fifty million kilometres of tracts bored in search of oil. 
In the cavities melting upward on the underside of glaciers. 
In the fertiliser run-off dead zones where sea grass and

everything else doesn’t grow because there’s not

enough oxygen to survive. 
Holes in the planet we’ve made with our greedy little hands.
But mostly, you can’t disagree, there are holes now in our

heart. And there’s no product to buy to save us from that. 
The dreams the children must be having tonight,

after they tuck themselves into bed

are stifling.
They will haunt

us all.