Fake plastic grass
Paper Trees
Straw park benches
Puppeted kites
Styrofoam soil
Paper-plate sun
White fibrous clouds
Painted sunset
You look like the real thing
But you aren’t anything,
Just a pretty figment
My Plastic Paradise
Still functions
With a heart
In-denial
Fed of cold, left-over pizza
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem