The weather will change,
We’ll think it malicious.
Speak hurricanes’ names and worry in secret.
The waves will build somewhere way out in the ocean,
And flatten whole towns when they break on the beaches.
It won’t be enough. We’ll plough on
The mightiest we’ve ever been.
Standing like gods on the shoulders of history.
Or tossing our curls in the sun.
We’ll stare down at the screens in our hands
And smile at the photos. Didn’t we laugh.
Strange voices will sing from street corners.
Powerful men will mumble it into the backs
Of the people they fuck. This is the end.
Health and safety slogans will resonate like ancient proverbs.
Don’t use the lifts in the case of fire.
Make yourself aware of your nearest exit.
We’ll bury our heads in the sand of our lovers.
The waters will boil in the oceans.
Dead things will float on the waves.
The ice caps will thicken to slush puppies
As hurricanes twist
Like boxers in sleeping bags, trying to throw punches.
There’ll be fires in the forests, floods in the cities.
And men too rich to swim will die.
The skin on our children will toughen and harden.
And still we will debase ourselves
For that piece of land or mineral
That rock or bomb or golden egg
That might allow one dying person to imagine
They are worth more than another.
Kate Tempest