(Originally written during the previous floods: still, I hope, relevant.)
You ignored all the warnings
About global warming
(Or climate change as we now call it)
You dismissed the statistics
As myth told by mystics
In favour of cramming your wallit.
All those air miles behind you
Expanding your mind? You
Know: brains aren’t things on which you sit.
So instead now you find
An expanded behind
That’s the size of the cloud you emit.
Now, given the rain
Fell again, and again,
And poor Yorkshire is all under watter
Then if you still deny
The state of the sky
You must be as mad as a hatter.
But if you’re not sure
Of the need for a cure
Just stick your head out of the door;
And as you feel the wind
Of the planet you’ve sinned
Against: think how it feels to the poor.
(Oddly enough, I sent this very poem to that habitual geocaust denier and lazy reactionary chuckler Terry Wogan, when the previous floods happened; despite his programme’s love of doggerel when it comes from the stridently uncontroversial “Chuffer Dandridge of Old Bangor Town” he never to my knowledge read out my offerings. Perhaps my rhymes or metre aren’t quite the thing; perhaps Al Gore provides an easier target.)