Discontent
Blue sky, fast-moving cloud,
all the trees with sun-silvered branches,
gleaming rushes bent eastwards,
backs to the wind we all know is coming,
like we turn our backs on the politicians whose untruths
sting our eyes if we face them,
turn our backs on the impacts of fossil fuel burning,
unable to countenance alternatives,
turn our backs on the people
whose forests are cut down, whose land is flooded.
Whether we face it or not,
the wind will blow.