they patted themselves on the back they hugged and kissed and redfaced clapped vin rouge and gore, the bishop stunned by elevation barrack for more, barrack for more whose words rise high, it’s a shame that his feet are planted six feet down, holding the world up like a week kneed Atlas you’re no Greek god, you’re just a lying sod billionaire bought, but your credit is nought. All were oiled and dined, Carnegie smiled and mimed Paul raised the Saudi curse, stated that it could be worse But he said we’ll clean our oil, we’ll only burn the best part of it I think David must have thought that he was in a Hugh Grant movie And all the while Deborah, mother hen, foul if you like clucked as if she had f&^$ed us over they smiled, they sourired, their lip corners cracked
I never got around to finishing this one, written in Paris in 2015, after attending some of the sessions at the back of the conference, the ones the public were allowed to visit.
#climatechange #poetry #cop21