Day 29 — 6% deflection + water bombing

Today’s poem is a mixture of quotation, paraphrase, & commentary on something one inactivist denier actually said. Presumably, with a straight face. A straight cold callous inhuman face.

*****

wet feet

should the West Antarctic Ice Sheet actually do 
what the scientists threaten — & slip off into the sea  
— is it really be the end-of-the-world calamity they contend

even if the sea rose 6 metres — it would only reclaim 
about 42,000 square kilometres of coastline
where roughly about 400 million people currently live

that sounds quite a lot of people — but hardly 
all humanity — less than 6% of world population
which is to say — 94% of us need not fear — inundation 

after all — it’s simply an equivalent number of people 
to the entire population of the US & UK — combined
a mere drop in the ocean — you might wryly remark

*****

Day 30 — TIL i learnt we’re bombing the ocean

hot water

year after year 
we’re setting 
ocean heat records 

last year alone
they absorbed 
eight Hiroshima 

atomic bombs 
detonating 
every second 

of every day

— nearly seven
hundred
thousand
every day

— five million
a week

— a Quarter.
Of a. Billion.
Bomb’s. Worth.
Every. Year.

* 480 a minute / 28 800 an hour / 691 200 a day / 4 838 400 a week / 251 596 800 a year

Day 30 — history doing what history does best

Wide NY

Once again, as if to round out the month, the poem I had been planning to finish the event with is not the one I’m publishing tonight. Again, an article I read about 100 year old New York serviceman who died due to complications with COVID19. This led to me playing with voice & POV & trying to put the scant biographical facts I had about him into a poetic first person monologue. Which lead me to research more about him. Thankfully the first article I read was the least evocative & I found some beautiful stories/snippets in other obituaries. 

As much as I liked the other idea, it seems right & fitting to end with this moving personal story that spans the centuries.

*****

Philip Kahn: a semi-imagined poetic obituary

everyone should understand by now history always
replays versions of itself for its own amusement.

he was born at the end of the war to end all wars
— then fought in the next one that came along.

on the ground, at Iwo Jima, survived snipers — & a booby
trap which blew him 15 feet from where he stood.

from the air, over Japan, flew B29s & dropped
bombs — then carried their weight the rest of his life.

he helped the Twin Towers go up
— then like everyone else, watched them come down.

married in 46 & remained happily wed
— until Rose’s death last summer. 

yet always — he carried a void with him.
i was that void. Samuel. twin. died 1919.

taken by two pandemics — a century apart.
a life lived — & one that only watched.

the irony of our deaths — is my brother
& i are bookends on a shelf that never ends.