On a dolphin snout a plastic bag
Invites a slow starvation
Fins restrained by fishing nets
A momentum strangulation
Seabirds’ necks are question marks
Tied up with six pack rings
No more sky, no more flight
They flap with useless wings

And all the while
deniers sing
their demented
bat-blind tune
‘It is ever thus
And will always be
The science isn’t in’

Fires burn beyond control
Seen where they’ve never been
The Arctic Circle fence is breached
Its forests drained of green
Citizens of Europe swelter
Drowned in summer sweat
Nowhere left for them to run
From this roiling carbon threat

Snide leader jokes
In whispered voice
To fellow
Leaking sore
‘Time means nought
when you’re caught
with water lapping
at your door.’

The reef succumbs beneath the seas
Coral sticks bleached white
Dead from farm efficiencies
Dead from mining’s blight
Land is cleared with massive chains
Rain drains its murderous load
Of fertiliser and pesticides
Into a coast commode

The solution is
a pile of dough
To men who know
Its worth
Moneyed men
Who will defend
Their right to loot
This earth

Beneath hot sun, a million ‘roos
Lie parched on boundless plains
As farmers scan the empty skies
For never-coming rains
Wrinkled brows in perma-frowns
These desperate broken men
Limp across this wide brown land
Where crops won’t grow again

An oafish man
Brings lumps of coal
Before the
Peoples’ place
Arrogance and
Hubris drips
From his greed-entitled face

There are stirrings in the capital
Rich white men are upset
Saner heads are blocking them
From all they want to get
So they lean on passive solar
And they lean on windmills too
And they lean on anyone who might
Impede their tantrum coup

In far north lands
Strangers stomp
On sacred
Holy lands
And bide their time
‘til greedy men
Give in to
Their demands

We’re not the ones to go alone
Why should we sacrifice
Our comfort, wealth and vantage point
To watch the melting ice
Let’s monetise that blockbuster
Let’s record our own demise
We’ll shore up our prosperity
While all about us dies

The dimwits and
the foolish whose
Job it is to serve
Are gorging on
Each other
Are these the stewards
We deserve?

To those fossil fools in Canberra
You know who you are
Your clothing dank with coal smoke
Your fingers dripping tar
I hope you still have wit enough
To remember what you’ve done
When the tides reach just below your nose
Your brain is boiling in the sun
Howls of grief let bowels release
And as you head for the abyss
There comes the awful knowing that
It was you who did all this.

©2018 slightlyangryguy



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