I, Conservationist (a poem)

The wonderful summer is with us at last –
though it comes bearing warnings.
The butterfly, for instance, is in peril
and I trust we’ll do enough to save it’s neck
before its too late.

I would grow wild buddleia for bees in my garden
and plant flowering honeysuckle for the butterfly,
but I’ve not a garden in my first floor flat.
Perhaps I can donate a small sum,
for retaining meadows across the counties.

Though come to think of it, I should save my cash
to build a windfarm and make my own power,
instead of relying on the nuclear option.
And then there’s the worry of saving for a pension,
and for the cost of my radiation cure.

Despite a country past, I’m stuck indoors,
with antihistamines and fridge-cooled water
to take me through the wilting day.
A common moth hovers outside my window,
and with twitching nose, I shut it out.