We wake to the distant booms
like a slow pulse beneath the earth.
From our camp in the Alps the sound is almost peaceful
a backdrop of summits serene in yellow-green, the war below
far enough away to imagine a terrible dream.
At breakfast though, the other aids talk of fires
in Anchorage, of Cape Town razed to rubble
the fights breaking in Spanish wastelands.
I focus my attention on my ration of bean stew
searching for salvation in a silver spoon
but then we hear them approach –
rumbling reconnaissance trucks hauling soldiers
khaki shirts and spirits muddy
panda insignias smeared in ash
clipboards fixed in high ready position.
Their commander jumps down, expression dour
addresses the massing crowd muddling prayers.
We clasp clammy hands round crossed fingers
for the part of the day we dread –
the reading of the names of the dead.
The commander clears his throat
holds his phone up close and lists the casualties:
Bachman’s warbler. Agave lurida.
Dama gazelle. Molokai creeper. Barbodes katolo.
I breathe relief. It’s no-one I know.
Happy #nationalpoetryday! This year’s theme is ‘the environment’ – the perfect intersect for this blog!
This poem imagines a future where large areas of Earth are uninhabitable, and entire species are mourned daily like family members fighting in wars – a war of our own making. The species listed in this poem are all already gone.
Ecoetry 