It was the hottest ever April.
After that winter we threw off our clothes
at the first sign of sunshine, ran to the coast
(after we’d hosed down our azaleas).
If this is climate change, I’ll keep it!
Laughed the blonde with skin
the colour of smoked salmon.
Her child, plastered in factor 30
almost scurvy-fied through lack of sun.
We dripped away the old raised-eyebrow reliables:
There’ll be a hosepipe ban before you know it!
...bound to rain on the coming parade!
A continent away, it hadn’t rained for years.
Crops failed and children gnawed
the bones of their own mouths. What then?
Those who could walk, fled north – wouldn’t you,
your withered rags of family in tow?
The beach looked smaller that year
– the sea edged closer. Even as reservoirs
emptied their favours across profligate nations,
subtle changes meddled with the settings.
Remember then? Remember when
we had fresh running water every day,
before Africa became a desert
and all the borders closed? Remember when
we hosed down the azaleas?
© Clare Kirwan
Britain heading for warmest Easter weekend on record
Food crisis looms in Horn of Africa
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Clare Kirwan used to work for an environmental charity but gave up because no-one seemed to care. She still cares a bit, but blogs as Broken Biro about other stuff. www.clarekirwan.co.uk
