My uneasy hand clutches a £ 20 note
The pretty cashier is trying to re-scan
A sirloin steak for dinner
And a ten-pack of diapers
Shit, there goes my job
In Europe or America
And there could be war, so who will buy
A pint of Old Peculiar for me
In lunchtime work politics
But the ice is melting
In Greenland the hungry ocean waves
Feed on dwindling glaciers
Defrosting in the microwave
Is faster I think
As I sear the dinner-time steak
Our teetering Earth falls onwards
Courting the sun
Now sinking here
Soft rays that sing sleep to the baby
Orange stripes in the living-room
As friends arrive bearing wine
And tense war-worry stories
But the pitter-patter of food words
Soon calms that storm