Science Fiction (poem)

We have a problem.

There is an issue as regards the light:

it seems to be fading.

Audio quality also: we seem to be losing you.

Butterflies sparkle between the branches,

bees hum across the floral beds,

birds sing brightly from the woodland tops,

it’s a busy day down here.

And we’re all feeling all right,

secure in our factor thirty-five,

kept in touch with it all by our smart phones and i-pads;

the hamburgers sizzle as the Pimm’s is poured.

A single dead leaf drifts across unnoticed,

finding a quiet corner in which to disintegrate;

somewhere out of range the ice is melting too quickly,

somewhere out of sight the soil is losing its goodness.

The small boat lurches as the great sea turtle is hauled aboard;

expertly the plastic shroud about its head is removed,

gently the turtle is released, and swims away.

One more saved (for now); but how many lost?

Our planet’s health is measured in the oceans;

the wealth of the land is dumped into their waters,

with fatal consequences for tiny creatures we don’t think about;

but we need them, we depend on them.

Meanwhile, the truth is lost in a digital Babel,

swamped by fake news and manufactured sensation,

twisted by extremism, bloated into entertainment,

individualised out of existence.

For now,  butterflies sparkle between the branches,

bees hum across the floral beds,

birds sing brightly from the woodland tops,

it’s still a busy day, and we are still all right.

But somewhere someone might be saying,

“Earth, we have a problem;

you are no longer coming through as you should.

We think we’re losing you.”