In a humid climate in a place no longer green
a young girl walks confident with glee,
I scoff, and I sigh and and sit on a bank,
of a home once comfortable before I sank
you see this is my home deep in the south
Full of rubbish, which flows towards my mouth
When I see such a thing so scared of me,
I think of the pain they fail to see.
The rubbish, and fumes that pollute my home
The UN gives instructions,
They ought to know
Is she from a far away land,
across the pond?
if so then im not so fond
When she sits so high up in those clouds
is it me she thinks of or the fumes which crowd
It’s humans I don’t like,
There’s more sustainable things to do
Perhaps they’ve bitten off more than they can chew
My ears perk up before i strike,
A gentle hum flowing through her ears
a question,
an answer
a conversation of sorts
’mum I’m having a picnic’
A picnic?
I stop
The girl tells a story of a faraway land,
where the environment troubles her
’The world needs a hand’
She’s right you see but its her at fault
Atleast that’s what I thought til she started to talk
She came on a bike,
Walked the rest of the way,
carrying a container of glass with food for which she wouldn’t pay.
Her metal water bottle clatters,
As she speaks of the guilt that follow her travels
She looks around and shakes her head in disgust
“Its goal number 12”
That’s where we should delve
The college focused on 14 before, perhaps we can discuss
When she leaves my swamp a fondness has grown,
a faraway land for which ill never know,
she knows we share the earth for which im grateful,
if anything im not as hateful
when a faraway girl comes from a faraway place
She leaves my home with nothing but a trace.
I wonder if she’ll know she made a friend
an alligator came for tea, with a promise that its world wouldn’t end
