The Ten-Year plan

It's all plain sailing until one notices
there isn’t a bin nearby to throw all this plastic away.
Save it and wear it like a jacket that was worn once –
no-one really liked it anyway.

That bottle there, that can here, are loathsome pieces.
They rattle about the place and carry a sort of weight,
a sort of weight that amounts to nothing.

Instead, the taciturn, corporatized, licensed item builds up
       somewhere
that isn’t seen in any reality
and builds contacts with lichens and irritants.

'Pessimist' has become a byword for
'socially adept', someone who wouldn’t know
if there was a plastic-free alternative,
or how to spell Pinocchio, the upper class would have one believe.

Is this what climate has become, a talking point?
A class war where bulk and impulse buys
have become a way of life,
where consumerism has to be compressed to a list.

It's all Black Friday sales instead of a ten-year plan
before the damage is irreversible,
and a next day delivery instead of being carbon neutral by 2050.

To the producers burning, casting, and melting away,
will you perhaps broker a contingency plan knowing that deep scars never really fade?