New real. Rougher deal. The bent snake
with his awful coils jet-streams this climate roil.
Eighty nine degrees in Alaska. Denver snowing.
Fifty tornadoes hammering the Midwest..
The Missouri River cresting at 30 feet.
A hundred one degrees in Atlanta. And the
summer hasn’t even started—no Cat 5
hurricanes yet punch Miami’s lights out,
no wildfires tindering the mountains West.
Heat the world by one degree of C
and you get this battered, pissed-off snake.
We’ll double the increase in fifteen years,
treble it in fifty: And the coils will swell
to a dragon might needing no occasion
for belching hell’s cross-country flight.
Imagine the coming reigns of fire and flood
when air crashes through curved rapids.
When thrashing becomes the daily fraught
what wastelands will our hours become,
sanding bags against witched tides too tall.
What can love be in a digesting age,
when the snake devours us entire?