Global Warming - Shawna L. Swetech

[Lawrence Robinson]

Global Warming 

 
The leaves blow and scrape across asphalt, sounding like a 
river’s death chant, its slow aching exhale. Light
shimmer thins and fades on what water’s left,
Reflects so little cloud, so little sky in the flow’s strangle. 
Outline this: write down the sound with the blood  
of black oil: those cracked and soul-stripped dry beds,
bare of fish and frog. Is this forever? Rainless skies?
Trees dead along the riverside, stripped of bird and bark? 
And bees? What about their flowerless collapse? My lungs 
relentless withering from this too-late sorrow:
Fog didn’t blind us—greed did.

	- Shawna L. Swetech

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