First class was all
Most sold out
Withal more empty than seeming
Wanting even
Titanic eves
To match their daze
Equally unenlightened
Missing that sinking feeling
Drinking in their moonshine
Wrecklessly straight
With nary an ice cube
Their glasses deluging them
Halving left
More than half fool
Long a go
At the no room inn
Taking
Parting shots
Through the looking glass
With mirrorlike lust-er
Not even a wave
Lapping up
The hem
And haw
In the face of global swarming
With frozen tears
Of mother earth
As if
Monumentally frigid
Proffering
Worthless rocks
Comprised of a billion carrots
Flawless in their mine
And blinding still
Un-be-knownst to them
In a twinkling of the I
Awe that they will no
Is mostly underwater
And in the scheme of things
A tiny cap size
In the sink
This titanic poem confronts the monumental hubris of mankind (sick) ignoring the rising tide of climate change and increasing climate instability. 
The metaphor of the Titanic, over a century later, still, at the bottom of the see, epitomizes the lethal consequences of underestimating nature’s ability to cull out suicidal weighs of life. Wile the rich in penguin suits toast the destruction of icebergs, their karma wades for them in what is as qualm as can be. Yep, as global warming fires up, be the toast! I am rather fond of humanity, but in the scheme of things, whatever undying infection Mother Earth may have of us, she heels to the largesse faucets of life. As clear as night, we don’t know ship when it comes to our titanic undertakings. And the see lies in weight. In a slight paraphrase of dialogue from the movie Titanic: “But this shit can’t sink! She’s made of irony, sir! I assure you, she can… and she will. It is a mathematical certainty.” May we wise up sooner rather than later to avoid any more first class disasters.
