by Thomas Davis
They sat, the Governor and President,
Before the bristling microphones, the flood
Of waters on the earth, and, as they bent
Catastrophe into the pounding blood
Of prayers full of self-congratulations,
Old people sunk in wheelchairs, their thighs
Beneath the murky waters as, forsaken,
A child clung to its mother–as she dies.
Inside the microphones, great power spoke
And broadcast masks of headlong recklessness
As children cried and scores of parents woke
And saw the water’s rising deadliness.
In wind and water Gaia spoke to those
Whose voices bragged about their glorious woes.