On a Flight to Las Vegas

One ponders the untenable, immersed in it,
And moving toward it, hurtling through
The air upon a path of deadly hydrocarbons
Toward a searing city running out of water
Day by day.  They'll have to have this valley
Empty or all those within will die.  They'll
Have to turn from hydrocarbons, leaving oil
In the ground, if they don't want the world
Aflame.  The trips, the overpriced amusements,
How we shuttle foods and goods from where
They're made to where they're stored, to households
Which have purchased them, are wasteful.
We were warned they were.  Now we understand
That they've become untenable.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2022-05-30 at 06:39

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Sad how we as a race have mismanaged and manhandled the resource and potential of terrestrial living. Sometimes I think Charles Dickens was right to smear parchment with searing ink.