A forest fire roasted the first haunch.
Someone put two and two together
and those who huddled round the hearth
at the first ceremonial feast
breathed in the fumes of a thousand chippies
in that prophetic smoke.
While their descendants, sticking plastic forks
into their big macs, French fries
watch the greasy wrappings skitter
in a December monsoon wind,
turn up the heat in the world’s oven.