A Carbon-Copy Confession of a CO2 Sin

Or, more simply: ‘A Flying Guilt Trip’

© Johnathan Reid

You turn left not right,
disdaining the fight,
the unseemly race,
for a petty inch
of elbow space.
You want your escape
to a far away place
to begin in style,
smug inside.

More money than sense
bought that cocoon,
to hide the guilt
of your latest beachscape.
The indulgent luxury
of twiddled toes in warm salt,
UV-bathed, sand-displayed skin.
To idly witness avarice,
no matter if real or vain artifice.

You’ve burnt CO2, haven’t you?
You took a plane, not a train.
You’re raising kids
to expect the same.
Have you no shame?
Don’t you see?
What you’re doing won’t help
a generation wondering
if being born was necessary.

We’re but small fish in this sea,
your friends all agree.
You deserve it.
You’re worth it.
The money you work for
so hard, should help ease
your one life, one too short
for depressing thoughts on
distant things causing strife.

It’s for others to decide, not judge,
if your sky-high rides
mean dire consequences
for those less fortunates’ fate.
Each castigating the other
for doing too little, too late. 
So now, as before, you’ll escape, 
spewing planetary platitudes
for all of our sakes.