Getting drenched: A poem 

Black umbrellas in the cold rain 

shielding faces steeped in pain 

The weekly garbage bins are out 

Scavenging birds are all about 

The seas are climbing up the rocks 

Icebergs are ripping up like smocks 

Will this deluge the cities and docks? 

Not heartening is global warming talk 

I hear the streets’ hypocritical applause 

Tender dew is certainly not their gloss 

I whistle away my silence just because 

I have no words to speak, I am at a loss 

The plastic waste and smog will fill our gills 

And shunted forests will raise posterity’s bills 

If I get a cold from the pouring, drenching rain, 

I walked with no protection, who do I blame?