read by jamie morton
Imagine losing the British Museum.
Vaults of culture and knowledge,
Ancient, yellowed phone books,
The last living record of names and dates
Floating on the flushed ocean,
Pages fragile, wet, and spread.
Imagine seeing honey-warm faces,
Doe eyes and flat noses above
Yellowed water; tiny hands
Bearing baskets and barrels
Above the silt-filled flood.
Imagine watching the ices melt,
The waters creeping up sea walls
Like tidal thieves cartwheeling
Their way into the land-bound's greatest banks.
Imagine watching TV
As the world turns to water