Because There Is No Planet B

by Sally Flint

WE MARCH

to the square, as if we might clear

the atmosphere's carbon overload

by shouting:  It's not too late.

WE MARCH

past banks, Costas, the plastic filled

pound shop, and a new vegan restaurant

where waiters call out: Our boss says go join!

WE MARCH

to the homeless guys' slow hand claps.

Another sign: I'm a teacher missing

my maths class. A boy blows a trumpet,

a wide-eyed toddler on her father's shoulders

points to the press cameras and police.

WE MARCH

in a quaking snake ‒ flank motorists,

some beep in support, others stay grim-faced.

Never did the sky seem so clear to this sea of people

behind a grey-haired woman's banner: Fuck Capitalist

*Heroes*: We're in this Together. A small city of thousands,

uniting with millions who know it's through human pollution

WE MARCH