Have you seen pale white skin
Turn gold like a thanksgiving turkey
Tan-happy, the hazel eyed woman,
Sits on a sun chair, looking out
To a stationary sun and the Yucca trees.
The coal ministries are back
Singing halleluiah, the dust bowl
Is buzzing with mossies that are as plastic
As the cacti in Utah, while
Everywhere else in the world, especially
In the cyclone belt, there is californication
Of a climate, opening golden gates
To the furor of the weather gods. While
A little child in a Bangladeshi slum
In his broken English, sings, “rain, rain
Go away”. Mayhem is just a little waterless
Tap in the Australian outback
Where there are no longer billabongs
Only matildas stocking sun creams.
