The new me
Today I am made of vegetable skins,
Of potato peel and orange rind.
I’m made of the clippings of my neighbour’s hedges,
Of rotted teabags and coffee grinds.
Last year I was probably made of water,
From the river, the sea and the pool.
I was probably made of dishwater, and bathwater,
Very likely in my case, toilet water too.
It’s possible that I am made of things
That previously made up you.
In all probability we’re all made up of
Things that were once beautiful or repulsive too.
Every part of me is new, carbon atoms
That were once elsewhere employed.
Today every cell in my body is made
From something someone else once enjoyed.
Today I am made of vegetable skins,
I hope it’s impossible for you to tell.
Some days I feel I’m made of more disgusting things
And on those days I feel very, very unwell.