June, 2020 – Hell in a Handbasket - 9. Part Nine: Can Kicked Down the Road

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Part Nine: Can Kicked Down the Road

But Where Will We Live… III

LXII.

Words are my emotional

Stock in trade –

Sometimes I wish

I were out of business.

LXIII.

Each year climate change modelers

At universities around the world

Update their software with data

Collected as actual happenings

On the globe the previous year.

Spring 2020, when this was all done,

Emails flew between the experts:

“Did you get the same results?” they all asked.

For based on last year’s trending facts,

All the world’s supercomputers confirmed

The climate was in its death throes.

But instead of embracing these hard facts,

These experts looked for ways to break

The accuracy of their own programs.

Faith had interfered with the ones

The public has need to most rely on

For sourcing empiric science –

Not ones to wring hands and say “This must be wrong,”

Just because they don’t want to ‘believe’

The horror of the findings in black and white –

When they should have been warning us

The seesaw tipping-point is past going back.

How did even our researchers

get to such corrupt, ostrich-in-the-sand

convolutions meant to do harm?

Like all things we do, following the money,

If we dare; climate modeling

Succumbs to faith-based degeneracy,

For as the old, dirt-common prayer

Lays out in bareness: “There’s no health in us.”

LXIV.

What wells up beneath the human

Cesspit of destructive instinct

To piss our graffiti mark

On accomplishments and “punish”

Nature for making us so truly inconsequential.

Two-thousand-year-old Joshua Trees

Pushed over and killed in the Gop

Joke of a government shutdown, laying off

National Park Rangers all across the land.

Covid lockdown serves as an excuse for

White ‘hunters’ on vacay in Africa to

Murder a silverback gorilla in June, 2020,

While how many rhinos and elephants

must die too? The answer, all of them.

Uncontrolled wildfires in Australia at the end of 2019

Were allowed to bring koalas to the point of

extinction in the wild, thanks to years of encroachment

and rampant bush fires. There’s our mark on Australia.

And what’s to be next? Maybe pandas will go

Extinct this fire season-or-next in China, If all

The poachers don’t get to them first while the

Government is looking away, dealing with the next virus.

What wells up beneath the human

Cesspit of destructive instinct

To piss our graffiti mark

On accomplishments and “punish”

Nature for making us so truly inconsequential.

LXV.

Summer 2020 is a special time.

A re-set moment button pushed

To teeter humanity on an edge.

Tip one way, it’s back to ‘normal’

And the certain times of hell to follow;

Tip it back the way of correction –

Of reflection; of positive action

As opposed to passive handwringing –

And maybe, we’ll have a chance.

maybe

LXVI.

von . . . in Todesbanden

Den Tod niemand zwingen kunnt

Bei allen Menschenkindern,

Das macht' alles unsre Sünd,

Kein Unschuld war zu finden.

Davon kam der Tod so bald

Und nahm über uns Gewalt,

Hielt uns in seinem Reich gefangen.

Halleluja.

— Martin Luther

from . . . in Contracts of Death

Not one of us can Death command,

Nor the combined might of our kids,

For trying feeds the root of sin,

Sapping the health from the rest of us.

Death wars and loots from us early

By the caprice of his command

To steal us captives for his domain.

Alleluia.

— Martin Luther

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