Wet Saddle Ride

It's almost midnight,

Not completely dark

The lower end of the spectrum

Lingers across a cloudless summer sky.

Violets, blues, a streak of green

Stretch into the night

But they don't quite

Compensate my wet-saddle ride.

You wouldn't think the world was warming

From this one data-point

If Belgium was all we had,

A buffer against Napoleon, 

A pretend country, 

An amalgamation of Netherlands and France.

Data has a means of lying, 

Of confirming bias,

Emphasizing solipsism,

Like proclaiming your love

To a married woman.

Antarctic ice cores

Tell us we're on the verge

Of an unprecedented surge,

Anthropogenic climate change

Is spoiling a fate
Millennia in the making,

Temperatures have changed before,

But not at this rate.

"Coal is the future,"

Says the Prime Minister

At a rally in rural New South Wales,

And I tend to agree with him.

Burn those fossil fuels,

Suck your tit dry,

And while you're at it, 

Radio those SSBNs,

Unleash their ICBMs,

Blow this planet up

To kingdom fucking come

Who am I to care,

If we perish or survive?

It wouldn't make a difference,

It wouldn't be the first time.