Because There Is No Planet B
by Sally Flint
WE MARCH
to the square, as if we might clear
the atmosphere’s carbon overload
by shouting: It’s not too late.
WE MARCH
past banks, Costas, the plastic filled
pound shop, and a new vegan restaurant
where waiters call out: Our boss says go join!
WE MARCH
to the homeless guys’ slow hand claps.
Another sign: I’m a teacher missing
my maths class. A boy blows a trumpet,
a wide-eyed toddler on her father’s shoulders
points to the press cameras and police.
WE MARCH
in a quaking snake ‒ flank motorists,
some beep in support, others stay grim-faced.
Never did the sky seem so clear to this sea of people
behind a grey-haired woman’s banner: Fuck Capitalist
*Heroes*: We’re in this Together. A small city of thousands,
uniting with millions who know it’s through human pollution
WE MARCH
