A swollen tongue of oil invades the sea.
Its kiss is one of death, not of pleasure.
The coast’s the throat it probes so ruthlessly.

The Dassen Island penguin colony
feels its urgent, viscous, vicious pressure.
A swollen tongue of oil invades the sea.

Dehydrated, they seek shade fruitlessly:
the waterproofing gone from each feather.
Their coat’s the throat that’s probed so ruthlessly.

Their chicks are fed infected anchovy—
they’ll never swim where the water’s fresher.
A swollen tongue of oil invades the sea.

Thousands of birds will die, undoubtedly—
the final body count’s beyond measure.
The coast’s the throat that’s throttled ruthlessly.

Amidst all this is one huge irony:
the ship from which it spews—called "Treasure."
A swollen tongue of oil invades the sea.
The coast’s the throat it probes so ruthlessly.