Probably Armageddon

The last days before it

Ends or begins again,

When the lines in the

Globe crack trees

Through the gap

And silt oil into

Dust, no one

 Left to care

If the tap

 Runs cold.

What can we do?

Picnic on home-grown

Peas, post pamphlets predicting

Armageddon from fossil fuels,

Pay some banks some more

Peanuts to bet on African

Rain while cheap flights

Heat home for tea,

And guess what’s left?

Fish, freshly boiled in the sea.