A poem. Little Lola sits sitting, at the back of the class,
Her eyes are a-squinting, holding a question to ask, “Why would they do that? Tell people those lies?” But her hand stays afraid, too frightened to rise, It stays where it’s stayed, and the moment has passed, Bottled inside, her question unasked. Loudspeakers start singing the end of the day, Books, pencils and papers all packed away, The bell sounds the end of today’s day of school The halls start to flood from bare up to full, As the students start swarming in their efforts to flee, Another day down, for now they are free. Little Lola still lingers, her question unanswered, Her mind trapped in turmoil, her thoughts turning rancid, “Why would they lie? When it costs peoples lives? How could they lie when it meant people die?” She puts on her gloves, zips up her suit, Tightens the straps that seal pant-leg to boot. Gas mask is grinning, air flow is flowing, Filter fan spinning, charge meter glowing, Handhold is gripped, face angled in frown, Seatbelt is clipped, legs dangling down, Thoughts are still swirling, for what could have been, If in the past, the outcomes foreseen. The bus is brimming with children and chatter, As it starts humming, burning up antimatter, It shoots out from the dock at the school shuttle bus station, Soaring silent through space to its next destination. The children keep chatting, locked in conversations, But Lola stays quiet, staring out through the glass, Looking down at the planet once made up of nations, Mulling over the learnings that they’d learned in class. In the past there were people who pumped out pollution, Who prevented the progress of potential solutions, Who plastered their places with personal profits, Their glass-eyed and faceless professional puppets, Sat in powerful places protecting polluters, From the consideration of common commuters. When problems arose, the fingers went pointing, The global response was most disappointing, Slowly there built a great global outcry, “It wasn’t me, it was them,” was the standard reply, Across all the nations, were people united, Unbearably watching, as the planet was blighted, Lost places, lost peoples, they’d scream, cry and sob, The culprits proclaim, “I’m just doing my job.” Little Lola looks down, at the place that once was, Where life had once lived, she looks and she sees, Where life ran on hooves, feet, claws and paws, Where life swam in creeks, in lakes and in seas, Where life had then fled to live with the stars, Because of the fumes from too many cars. So much is brown, where once there was green, So much is white, where once there were streams, So much is dirt, where once it was clean, So much is dust, where once there were dreams. Little Lola sits sitting, at the back of the bus, Her eyes are a-squinting, holding a question to ask.
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