I give thanks to the tropical snake
whose venom provides pills to lower
my civilized blood pressure,
and thanks to what's left
of his harboring rainforest.
Thanks to the Ceylonese tea gatherers
who work in the merciless sun
to give me the familiar cup
that lends me courage for the morning.
Thanks to the banana trees of Costa Rica,
and to the Indonesian mahoganies
felled to veneer my bedroom dresser,
and to the Canadian spruce cut down
and pulped for paper with which we
might enlighten each other.
Thanks to the cotton-growers of India,
who live on the verge of starvation
but gave me my shirt, and to the women
in the sweatshops of Hong Kong
who sewed my pants.
Thanks also to the billion microbes
who ferment my beer, recycle my wastes,
and in the end
will faithfully return my body to
the Great Round of Being.
And thanks to those uncountable tiny creatures
compressed by geological history
into oil under Nigeria or Venezuela,
whose fossil energy lets me cross
a whole town for an ice cream cone.
Thanks above all to my fellow humans
born in the wrong countries,
who suffer falling wages, malnutrition,
the deaths of innumerable children,
destruction of their landscapes,
mutilation of their ancient cultures,
in order that my goods shall be cheap
and my corporations profitable.
I give thanks, but I do not expect forgiveness.