Global Warming Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The clown was unexpected, a professor
with cloroxed teeth and thinning hair,
and wearing, on command, a devil's grin.
A Sheldon's 1-1-7 ectomorph he was,
the type that bounces off the padded walls
in institutions of a very distant past.

Though he was all legit and well-credentialed,
book learning dripped, no spurted from thin lips,
with heightened sense of fake alarm, he squirmed
ruled by the sheer abundance of his catecholamines.
'Yes, Global Warming is a consequence for sure
of man's preposterous and undeserved demands.
Why talk about it anymore, the proof is in the bag,
carbon dioxide will bring mankind to its doom.'

There was a moderator, journalist by trade,
my guess is seventh grade and missing many days,
though he had cleverly sweneagled in new ways
that only bias had a voice and would be heard.

Oh what a shame to have a group of boys and girls
sit down in judgment with their fingers in their ears,
have they not learned the basic tenets of the truth,
that it is science that misleads us down the path?

There was a man who spoke with dignity and scorn.
And that the absence of clear evidence was not
a sign that evidence could show inherent fault
through pointing yet at one more black and endless hole,
while infidels blew oxygen into the yellow flames.

It is the very game that paid the many pimps,
purveyors of scaremongers' theories, all dressed
in cleric's cloth and wearing near the heart
the cross of many saviours that have gone before.
It is the lies we find distasteful in a whore.

So, in the end, the smelly scum will always rise
and we may watch the scoundrels with their little nets,
colanders strain and separate the useful dough
there is no shame in altruistic human deeds,
and after all, the friggin' bastards do have needs.