The Greenhouse Effect
Lounge in deckchair in December,
Scoffing plumpish English grapes.
Dump down drink. Do you remember
Snow at winter, flake-flung japes?
Memories are wayward shapes,
Each a long-dead Yuletide ember.
Yawning, test my skin for cancer,
Tame the tan by tilting shades.
D'you recall that rogue romancer
Who predicted how these glades
Would lose their green? Ah, hear the maid's
"Voulez-vous un peu de vin, sir?"
Thinking on this greenhouse feeling,
Basting in unseasoned sun,
Something's somehow unappealing,
Something undercuts the fun.
By my ankles, currents run -
See the water round me stealing!
Tide is rising round the plastic
Furniture and parasols;
Birdsong sounds a mite sarcastic,
Watching human fol-de-rols.
Shall not let it spoil my hols.
Global warming. Kent. Fantastic.