A cetacean swallowed eighty plastic bags or so,
then threw up a few more too late.
He was stuffed with
So much indigestible human made detritus,
Mistaken for nice juicy jellyfish
Or nutritious squid,
That he had no room left for food,
Ahab and Queequeg
Must be turning in their graves,
They need not have sailed on the Pequod,
Across storm lashed seas,
Or ventured out into
Vast swelling waves,
Standing braced in the bows
Of flimsy whale boats,
Poised to hurl heavy harpoons.
They were born too soon,
If they had been twenty first century men,
They could have rested on deck on sun loungers,
Or on stormy days, dined in the ship’s restaurant
And if they threw their food wrappers overboard
Together with any other plastic packaging ,
That would have seen Moby Dick off pretty quick.
No more need for heroics, mad obsessions,
Or hurling windswept curses into roaring gales,
We’ve just gotta keep throwing stuff away,
And soon there’ll be no more whalesong,
Around the oceans of our world.