Plumes of smoke
on a cold
Winter’s day
bring thoughts
of warmth and
community
and human
busyness and
achievement.
Plumes of smoke
on a hot
Summer’s day
bring thoughts
of destruction
and terror
and loss and
anger and
failure.
Plumes of smoke
on a cold
Winter’s day
bring thoughts
of warmth and
community
and human
busyness and
achievement.
Plumes of smoke
on a hot
Summer’s day
bring thoughts
of destruction
and terror
and loss and
anger and
failure.
The fog
of war,
the smoke
of climate
change
Politicians
and journalists
always demand to
know, and then
reject, the cost of
measures to conserve
the environment.
But neither ever
ask the cost
of war.
I have an
“Anxiety
App” that
generates
anxiety.
It’s also
called
“Fires near me”
Every morning
I awake wondering
if this is the day
a million red
horses of the
apocalypse
will come galloping
over the western hills.
All of us,
really,
have one track
minds.
Some of us,
though,
are happy to
explore
side tracks,
exit signs,
underpasses,
overpasses,
lay-bys,
and alternate
scenic routes.
And some of
us aren’t.
The ashes of
koalas are
blackening
the beaches of
Australia
I awake,
each morning,
to a shudder,
of anxieties.
Don’t give me
a home among
the gum trees
when it is
bushfire
season.