Death to the Man-Child
Salvisa, KY
2024, Senior, Poetry & Spoken Word
The wind still blows, thick and leaden
Earthly lungs wheezing; smog smitten
Unveiling humanity’s self-made armageddon
The sky, many times still a’ glisten
Such but a reflection of our feeble, childish impression
We say that the trees and wildlife are still beautiful; Christen
But really, the hell is only getting hotter, a formidable discretion
Our summers still swing by like the winters
Waiting to reenact the events that encapsulated our souls as mere children
The television says that there is death and drought and distress; sore splinters
Yet we still revel in the memory of the Earth from when we were young brethren
When no scope of our impact existed, or better yet, formed true sinters
We sit in our homes, drastic news festering
Feeling only overcast in the midst of sirens
We have to go about our day, after all; bettering
“There is nothing we can do.”
“It’s not that bad yet.”
And still, “We have to put food on the table.”
There’s no time for climate change amidst the middle class, not all are Chiron
If the hell is only getting hotter, melt us with it, already sweltering
Though, we are no longer kids
Much rather, complacent adults
Still sitting comfy, next to the very same television we watched cartoons; spermatids
But instead of Looney Toons, instead of a goofy grin across our faces, instead of exults
We mindlessly stare, as if with closed lids
Impending titles of our climatic doom, still, we avulse
What can we care? Handling this is for our grandkids
With television—it hardly feels real; a cult
We don’t quite see our privilege
Not to be standing in the waist high-flood waters
Not to be inhaling the toxic metals; no leverage
Not to be in the hottest region in the world, burning its own daughters
The crisis is a reality; we are no longer kids forced into bricolage
When will the most ‘ordinary’ be given the time, opportunity even for the trainspotters
See that we are no longer watching cartoons, no longer a glorious sky; now middle age
Rather, the hopelessness of our future, life only for yachters
Unfolding in front of our very eyes, finally out of the cage?
Yet we still attempt to avert and console, living as cotters
Childish minds engulfed in coverage’s crossfires
Reflection
Reflection
This poem was inspired by the millions of more privileged people around the world, who feel trapped in both their savior complexes and detachment from the climate crisis around them. Too often, the ‘middle class’ sits confined to their living rooms, watching news lines regarding climate change to no avail. I know, especially personally, that too many individuals and families are forced to worry about how they will afford rent, food, etc, over being able to activise for the environment and world around them. Our society, often too political for its own good, has capitalized living to an extent where the majority of the population can do nothing to help the world/climate around them, rather it is left to and caused by the top percent of earners; those who corporately burn more fuels than millions of eco-conscious families annually combined. Throughout my piece, I try to connect back to how so many attempt to cover up their anxiety regarding climate change through escapism, this concept permeating all tax brackets. By pointing out such nuances not only in climate change but in our society at large, I hope to inspire a new kind/generation of activists and innovators, one that focuses on the unique situations/impacts of our environment on all people.