World Leader

He looks around the dressing room
and tries to lift the sense of gloom.
His half-time team talk. 5-1 down.
Climate’s the only game in town.
The skipper’s rallying his men –
“although it’s tough, we go again.
Look, guys, no hairshirts, I’m no geek.
No need to be an eco-freak
to do this stuff. We win this game
and life will go on much the same.”
He’s confident he’s shown the way:
“So step up, chaps. Now, what d’you say?”

They’re thinking yes, he’s good at talk
but is he going to walk the walk?
His voting record’s anti-green
and party donors aren’t that keen.
His budget mentions no expense
for climate. How can that make sense?
The green homes deal was a flop
and foreign aid has seen a drop.
Coalmine in Cumbria, Shetland oil,
a flood of effluent to spoil
the rivers. No-one’s keeping rules
or cutting back on fossil fuels.
They hope what’s coming into view
is rational action, followed through.

Then, just before the conference starts…
Ta da! The man of many parts
says “ Here it is, for all to see
-              my new net zero strategy!”
It doesn’t mention farming, meat
or flying - is this plan complete?
There was a document which said
if we don’t alter course, we’re dead -
our whole behaviour has to change.
Then Johnson chose to rearrange
the schedule, so that bit got dropped.
The script’s revised, the picture’s cropped.

 Glasgow, November. Make or break.
The future of the world’s at stake.
Ten years back, promises were made
but then not kept. The debts weren’t paid.
A hundred billion to support
poor countries, but they came up short.
Time and again the future’s dreams
are strangled by the complex schemes
of those who find a devious way
to make these green solutions pay.
Communities about to drown
watch profits rise as they go down.

The leaders of the world in place.
He’s looking for a friendly face.
How much will Merkel back a bloke
who treats the EU as a joke?
Is Macron really feeling sore
about that trivial fishing war?
Biden, maybe, still takes the hump
at dealing with a mini-Trump
who spread Obama smears and then
put Irish peace at risk again.
Just when his ego needs a boost
the chickens all come home to roost.

No matter. He knows how this plays –
a stunning joke, a vivid phrase.
No blah blah blah, last-chance saloon.
Actions not words, aim for the moon
with fantasy, of which he’s fond.
“Minute to midnight, we’re James Bond.
The ticking bomb must be defused…”
It’s safe to say they’re not amused.
Too bad. While losers take the train
he’s heading for his private plane.
He and Prince Charles flew from Rome
on separate flights. It’s hitting home
that message about action/words
but not for him. That’s for the birds.
He’s done his bit, he’s done his best,
he’ll leave the details to the rest.
While global warming runs berserk
somebody else can do the work.