We stripped the orchard’s branches bare

All this is why I did not breed

To tell you (thrice) I have a need.

I ask again, did you expect

A saving grace, in some respect?

Or did you think “it cannot be”

Despite the fact the brains agree

“It could not happen” to the white

With all their money, muscle, might

For centuries brandished Book and guns

And then we harnessed a thousand suns

So surely white would reign supreme

With warming just a fever dream?

We stripped the orchard’s branches bare

We inked the water, smoked the air

Abused the prophets of the lands

Yet act surprised it’s out of hand?!

With eyes clamped shut, our noses clean

To serve, enjoy the vast machine

And fear the day it sputtered, stopped

The death of grass, the servants cropped 

Salvation myths, of tech in time,

Are alibi and also crime.

We’ll lose our pounds, dollars and sense

In this, the Age of Consequence.