Poem: The Consequence of Technology Unchecked.

Here’s a poem from “Chumming the Waters” (available in my new shop!) that touches on the themes which seem to be dominating the week, which include anthropogenic climate change (and our government’s steadfast refusal to acknowlege it), devastating storms, and as always, sharks.

I give you The Consequence of Technology Unchecked!

Look up in the sky!
Is it a bird?
Is it a plane?
No, it’s a… shark!?
WHOAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
How the hell did I get up here?
One moment, I’m a Discovery Channel star
bathed in blue waters
my pearly whites gleaming in the camera eye
a whole nation ready to tweet every twist of my tail:

OMG
DAT SHARK THO
LOL
#SHARKWEEK

And where am I now?
Twisting in the tailwinds with tweets now trending:

OMG
DAT SHARK THO
SOS
#SHARKNADO

Swept up in the winds of climate change,
we are screaming to the shoreline.
to destinations on our maps where the legends read:
“Here Be Humans”.
The scariest words in our vocabulary aren’t “giant squid”
or “angry dolphin”
or even “Chief Brody”.
No, the words that make our cold-blood run even colder
are “Laaaand Hooooo!”
Mother Ocean protect me.

This wasn’t an inevitability,
even if the protagonist’s name *is* “Fin”
and his father’s name *is* “Gil”.
There were so many Cassandras before the storm,
vice-presidents and science guys
pointing out the painfully obvious
But settled science makes for boring politics…
We get it.
Everyone wants the show,
no one wants to pick up the check.
A single drop of blood in the water,
fair and balanced on our noses,
can become a good frenzy.
Who doesn’t love a good frenzy?

But consequences will leave you torn and bleeding
unwittingly devoured.
You land apes are standing at global warming ground zero,
our movable feast propelled by your love of trucks,
big American trucks,
powered by the dinosaurs we used to know.
To learn more about climate change,
check your local library!
Look! I’m flying past one right now

Coming like a freight train in the night,
with meteorologist and marine biologist holding hands
Looking up as the skies open and rain down fishy apocalypse.
When we land, we will devour you out of spite
choking on you as the as the last drams of water
drain from our gills.
That’s how pissed off we are about all this.

We are legion in this vortex,
from all corners of the planet ocean,
Great Whites, Blues, Hammerheads, Tigers.
Normally we do not sup at the same table of the seas,
now we don’t have a choice.
We are now all brothers and sisters of the howling sky
each of us spinning from left shark
to right shark and back again.
Your cities but a grey blur of destruction
punctuated by red splashes, once flags’ warnings,
now a scoreboard to our unblinking eyes.

We are only the first.
When you rev your chainsaws to cut us apart
The exhaust will only be feeding the future
and soon there will be pirahnacanes,
mantaphoons,
cyclontopi –
nothing can stop it now.
You had your chance,
and ya blew it.
So grab your umbrellas idiots,
batten down the hatches,
wait for the emergency broadcast system,
and hold each other tight,
because tonight’s forecast calls for gleaming white teeth,
a faint drizzle of blood,
with a 100% chance of doom.

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