FEBRUARY 15, 2019
TEN YEARS FOR CLIMATE CORRECTION? TRY TWENTY. OR THIRTY.
I keep reading we have ten years to change,
Though some say eleven might still be in range,
Or twelve if we're lucky with big solar flares,
Or less if China controls poorly its airs,
Or a bit more if we can cut down on pork,
Though sore will I miss a sweet chop on my fork.
And what then, I wonder, when those years have passed,
When the doom long foretold is no longer forecast:
Imagine our lives with folks wringing their hands,
Whole stadiums empty of foam fingers in stands,
Not a soul on the beach in sunny Miami
Everyone hunkered for the big double whammy.
No, methinks the experts will again coalesce
Around ten more years to get out of this mess,
And ten after that if we don't get it right,
Since there's no sense in getting tense and uptight
'Bout the far stratosphere and its airy puddle,
Through which we'll manage and co-opt and muddle.
Muddle for better or more often for worse,
As lab-coats hustle to make up for the dearths
Of food and water and a few scraps to eat,
While shielding the earth from the sun's angry heat,
And cleaning the air so it gives us a break,
From all the exhaust that then we'll still make.
But this stuff about how we have ten years or three
The ol' diddly-squat gets from wiseguys like me,
'Cause nobody measures GDP by intent,
But service and products that pay monthly rent,
And like it or not that is all here to stay,
Till Mother Earth sticks her foot out our way.