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