Seven weeks of hiding
and the earth breaths relief...
Seasons of storms
angered colour coded weather
battered shores stoned
shifting sands reappear disappear
the worst on record
the likes never seen before
the land too sodden
then cracked and hardened
baked crust cracking
the temperatures are rising.
Harvest an immigrant toil
and the natives are restless
no goals to celebrate
gasping for a social pint
the torture of comfort
as we yearn for avocado toast
while the waters clear
we are blinded by consumption
clear air remains invisible
failing to see our salvation path.
... and the earth is broken
but we’re too privileged to fix it.
Ciaran Burke
