Rumours

I have started to hear the consequences of my consumption
In broad daylight my armoire accuses me of killing an Amazonian frog to create it
My iPad, calls to me at night, asking how many acres of habitat were disrupted, in order to mine its contents
My batteries cry themselves to sleep, and dream of the deaths of the soon to be extinct flamingos
My coffee cup mocks me in the morning, for assuming it can be infinitely recreated
My windmills joust at me on the weekend, in recognition that a millenia of stored solar energy was repurposed to last a mere 15 or so years
The entire planet whispers at me, entropy