Inventory of a Reef
Before anyone came,
the reef just was.
It built itself
out of light and patience,
counting time in colours.
Then,
someone brought a clipboard.
They measured the patience,
called it growth,
and sold tickets to see it.
Later came investors —
they discovered the reef
was excellent collateral:
beauty with a cashflow.
Fish were reclassified
as “stocks.”
The tide became “liquidity.”
The sea, a blue portfolio.
Now the reef is gone,
and the ocean hums with hunger.
Boats drag through memory,
catching nothing but ghosts.
The children eat dusted protein
made from the last sardine.
Plastic corals bloom in warehouses,
powered by the source of their own extinction.
Ceteris Paribus 