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Global Warming


The world reads icy newspapers

Whatever the politicians say in fine print no longer matters

It's the way the pages will yellow in the end

Finally, we've seen lava seeping through the walls

Finally, we've seen the rains launch upward

If thunder begins inside our own bodies, where will we hide?

They will say the question hasn't been studied enough

They will say the burning sensation is only in our imagination

They're right; and yet where does one go to escape the imagination?

To our deaths, that's where!

From the cemetery, the corpses no longer care what car we drive

The thigh bone in far corner prefers a Ford SUV

The skull on the left loves the roominess of a pickup truck

Even from their graves, the little ones with cancer'd spines

are asking adults for help.



[Originally published in NHS 2006, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs06/Katz.htm.]