poor gaia’s
getting tired
of being hard-wired
to expire
like a cheap air fryer
by CEOs who aspire
to retire
on the slick, plump profits
from the pumps and sumps and oil deposits
I mean – sure – they could stop it
if the companies didn’t block it
with the politicians in their pocket
sucking up dollar while mother earth cops it
protecting profits
arresting prophets
(I mean – WHY do they have to be SO catastrophic?
pessimistic, unrealistic
they haven’t a clue about economics
and anyway who really GIVES a shit
about Professor Whatever and their doomy statistics?
the city and the country’s sick of it
why don’t they quit?
cut their hair and use some lipstick?
get a job and be done with it?
absolutely doolally, totally dipshit
just leave the climate to us – okay? – we’ll fix it)
so
no
it’s not the air con
that’s making the hairs on
my neck stand up
it’s the thought
we’ve been brought
to the precipice
by a lloyd’s list
of blue chip companies in our midst
CEOs, shareholders, hedge fund people
their sneaky ecocide above board and legal
annual reports somewhere north of lethal
compromised beyond retrieval
the world in upheaval
till we all end up lost to a life medieval
cooked by degrees
in the cinder breeze
while leafless trees
slowly break and collapse in heaps
fragile as – I don’t know – deep fried churros
while the bones of dogs n’cows n’burros
litter the pitiful city plains
end time survivors hiding out in drains
the end of the world at last complete
(and all for the sake of a balance sheet)
jim clayton 