Melt Party
it was going to melt,
dilute a drunken, century-long binge.
someone was going to pay for it,
but they hadn’t been born yet,
and so couldn’t complain.
we had whooped it up, for sure,
harnessing everything, really, all life,
earth, air, fire, water,
cozy in our saddle of collective comforts
on a planetary hydrocarbon glide.
someday the steed would buck,
the supply cabinet parch,
the fast-track sink underwater.
someday, too, some panicky king
might push a red button, annihilating it all.
but
it wouldn’t hurt us,
we band of the merry,
immune to cataclysm
or any sort of weather.
we happy, long-gone, fun-loving ghosts.
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A GW poem. GW could stand for oil magnate and ex-Prez George W. Bush, who should be in jail for war crimes. Or it could stand for global warming.
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