The Urban Fox

My modest proposal, though not so modest and usually tainted with curses, is this… LEAVE IT ALONE. The first of my other proposals would be to shove a branch up Mr Cameron’s sphincter however that seems entirely unproductive in the long run. But my former proposal is directed towards the man in which I wish to lodge the branch. It is said that the definition of insanity is doing something over and over again and expecting different results. This can be applied to society and this pattern we keep spinning. It is simple. If you elect someone who is an arsehole then they will take our money and ruin our natural world.
The one constant we have in our life is the earth we walk on, and the air we breathe and taking the chance to ruin those with the offer of something so insubstantial and corruptive as money (no, sorry, fossil fuels) absolutely baffles me. Although, I must say, it didn’t surprise me when I heard it was being considered. The response towards the Americans proposal and David Cameron’s consideration of it though is incredible. Not so long ago when the forests were under threat of being sold the public rose up and they had to ditch the idea. And I am hoping the same will happen in this fracking mess.
As I don’t include poems on the blog as much as I’d like, I’m putting one I wrote recently as I think it links to what I’ve been talking about as the urban fox is how we as humans are headed ( no it isn’t about inserting tree limbs into politicians rectums)
A streak of fire against the inky light,Paws dancing in the filtered moonlight,

Brushing the grim dusky concrete, a red ghost,He becomes the shadows in the cheerless night,

Nothing is so furtive as the urban fox.
Living within a cage made of metal that glints in the sun,He knows nothing of the forest acres of green,

Mysterious land from where his parents crept,Weeping, desperate for food in the bitter winter’s game

Nothing is so expedient as the urban fox.
His cunning is weakened by streetlamps glow,He learned as a cub it is easier to creep behind the flow,

To retrieve the scraps that they leave behind,Never will he know of his native land

No story is so sad as that of the urban fox.