Not Really Poetry
It's still the main problem:
there are just too many of us.
The more we multiply,
the more energy we need
to heat or cool our homes,
power our factories,
or fuel our greedy cars.
And the more we toil, consume and travel,
the more we clutter up the Earth with waste.
You've heard all this before, of course
and so have I.
Have we done anything about it?
We're spreading like a giant fungus,
leaving no room for other species,
unless they can fly, or burrow deep,
or hide in ocean rifts.
On land there'll soon be nothing left alive
but us, and some livestock on farms,
and few weird creatures in zoos.
Wars will become more frequent
as we fight for scarcer resources.
Do politicians deliberately ignore
such long-term problems?
This is not really poetry -
just ghastly reality.
If anyone ever asked me
how to help our planet
(unlikely as that is) I'd say
'Make global over-population
a key political issue -
please, somehow, soon.'
Robert Melliard's Other Poems
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