It <br /> all <br /> starts <br /> on <br /> Ivan Pagonov’s <br /> first photo <br /> in the plastic, blue frame <br /> in the boy’s room. <br /> The sequel of plastic melting <br /> in every town and city, <br /> in the hidden resorts, <br /> in every village, <br /> in the countryside, <br /> on the bottom of the rivers, <br /> the lakes, <br /> the seas, <br /> the oceans. <br /> Bubbles pop out of the soil, <br />a century of manufacturing revealed, <br /> eighty percent of every household <br /> in the streets, <br /> a magnificent stream <br /> of unnatural colours <br /> running faster than <br /> the water flood galloping <br /> from the boiling Poles. <br /> All the plastic of the globe <br /> heading to that boy’s room, <br /> [is it a gateway to the sky? ] <br /> to plasticize the stratosphere, <br /> [to replace the useless ozone? ] <br /> to cut off the sun, <br /> <br /> [to rebuild the ice? ] <br /> Is Ivan cooperating <br /> on his own <br /> means, <br /> at <br /> last?<br /><br />Christos Rodoulla Tsiailis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/7-ivan-pagonov-in-global-meltdown-screwing-earth/
