Solar Politics

Vapour trails criss-cross amongst the sky,
Clogging up its pores in a patterned mesh
Of dishonest white that’s a permanent
Replacement to where the clouds used to be;
We sulk under our transitory ceiling
And harvest crops with ultra violent lights.
Bangladesh is now completely flooded,
But no-one really cares: they never took
The time to learn perfect American;
Besides, it’s all just solar politics.

I remember when the whole of England
Turned Mediterranean: weathermen
Were people’s favourite friends, vineyards started
Sprouting up, umbrellas were flung aside.
Then when it all started to go bad, they
Turned to the left and screamed in their faces,
To the people who’ve no joy in being right,
And asked them why they didn’t make them stop.
But no one can find an honest answer
To why we thought we’re better than the sun.