I Hope My Grandchildren Forgive You

I hope my grandchildren forgive you

for what you brought on our land

for the world we leave to them

Forgive the desert that was once California

the parched land and tongues of ordinary souls

rationed to a few drips a day

or will that be a week, who knows?

Forgive the 30 years wasted in deceit and denial

while simulations became fact

and facts piled on facts

and opportunities to act became wasted in dithering politics

And to the passing of the Floridas

while salt of sea infiltrated our children’s drinking supplies

I fear not for New Orleans, she’ll adapt

she always does

Forgive us the storms like no other

coming to a landmark near you

New York barraged by tides she’ll not soon forget

Lady Liberty will stand as a beacon still

even waist deep in the ocean

I certainly hope they can find it in their hearts

to forgive your cowardice, your avarice,

your blind blinkered stupidity

‘Cos God knows I won’t

Perspective

“We’re all in the same boat.”

You hear that a lot as a metaphor to explain away hard times, to buck up and press on, pull yourself up by your bootlaces, as another cliche goes, I must tacitly disagree.

We are NOT all in the same boat. We are all in our own leaking boats, trying desperately to plug the holes with snips off our bootlaces; except after the last 30 to 40 years, our bootlaces have been snipped away to nothing.

A lot of us, too many of us, don’t have ‘boats’ at all. They’re just clinging to a garbage bag that holds all they have in the world. We don’t see them for the most part, try to ignore their existence, and when that becomes too hard, we use our paddles to shove them as far out of our sight as possible.

Some of us are throwing rocks at people in other boats ‘cos they cain’t stand t’ look at their faces: “Mabel, get mah shotgun, that there colored boat is gettin’ too close to us!”

Let’s not forget the yachts blissfully plowing through us, not a care in the world, not even if a passing boat happens to get pulverized by their rudders.

That’s my metaphor, which I think is closer to the truth,