A conference of sorts

~ A poem for COP26 ~

There’s a clearing in the centre of a burning copse
overlooking a vast still lake.
There’s a group of children picnicking there
their faces lit up by the flames.

But somehow they just cannot see them
they’re having too good of a time
eating gammon and plums from the pantry
drinking tea and their parent’s fine wine.

In the clearing is an array of buckets
a hose and extinguishers too.
So the picnickers have a discussion
on how they should use this loot.

Ricky just wants to sell them.
Mike keeps the best ones nearby
they argue each case for an hour
as birds plummet charred from the sky.

Morris votes, ‘stash them away
until they are sought-after tools’,
then it takes another hour to decide
whether Matt should stop tossing on fuel.

And Tom is too busy bullying Joe
to notice his coat is on fire
so they throw him into the burning pines
a dreadfully distracting pyre.

In the end they decide to leave it
as the lake turns slick and dries.
But they pose for a photo with their buckets
so at least you can know that they tried.

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