It’s a Friday afternoon, I’m in the office all alone,
no-one wants to talk business, no-one calls me on the phone.
Inside the air-conditioning, coolin’ a tower block,
the heat from electronics servin’ the company none stop.
Outside the “concrete jungle”, devoid of plants and green,
is, in fact, a “concrete desert”, pollutin’ the air we breathe.
Strangers pass by my window, never laugh or smile,
I can almost see their odious debt, to partake of this lifestyle.
We’ve got to build more houses; have to reproduce!
Destroy the planet’s lungs, to feed this mad abuse.
To compound in its torture/demise, we’re to reduce/cut-out CO2,
‘cos if there’s no more trees and jungles …. but we aren’t told that home truth.
Laws passed by faceless morons, pushed by corporate wealth,
the last thing on their minds is your happiness and health.
No-one hears the Earth choking, as we tighten our virus grip,
but, in the vastness of time, mankind’s just a puss-filled zit.
Our age/era/epoch will soon be over, maybe we’ll leave a tiny scar,
but the planet’s beauty will return, as she dances with the stars.
©31.5.2019 Andrew Robert Chapman
I can almost see their debt, to join in this lifestyle.
a patch of x x green,
Inside the air-conditioning, sucks at nature’s teat,
endless electronics serve the companies needs.
magnifies the heat, pollutes the air we breathe.
The passer-bys my window, never laugh or smile,