Everyone thinks there's no future in history

(Inspired by what feels like an overwhelmingly tiring debate on what should be the future of a college education, and today's Writer's Digest prompt to start with Everyone and fill in the blanks.)

Everyone thinks there's no future in history.
When the reality of plastics
has been killing our planet.
Softly quieting birds,
strangling fish,
and filling fertile deposits of soil
with toxic trash.

The Graduate did not seem to heed the advice,
as he hopped a school bus
with runaway bride Elaine.
That prophecy was doom,
no future in arts and humanities.
Unless, of course, you were a girl,
going after an M.R.S.

What is the meaning of a world
of books and old parchment?
Faded photographs,
rusted horseshoes and skillets
that suddenly show up
in a future potato bed?

Is the future in plastics,
or in understanding
and repurposing
the compost of the past?