Hold your breath: a song of climate change by Bob Hicok

Hold your breath: a song of climate change

by Bob Hicok

The water’s rising

but we’re not drowning yet.

When we’re drowning

we’ll do something.

When we’re on our roofs.

When we’re deciding between saving

the cute baby or the smart baby.

When there aren’t enough helicopters

or news crews to circle

over everyone. When sharks

are in the streets. When people

are dying. When people

with wine cellars

are dying. We’ll build dams

and dikes, put stilts

on our V-8s and golf courses,

cut down anyone

who cuts down a tree,

paint our Jesuses

green, we’ll grow wings, we’ll go

to the moon. Soon.

I read this poem in the anthology, Here: Poems for the Planet, edited by Elizabeth J. Coleman. (2019, Copper Canyon Press) You can also find it online here at Catamaran Literary Reader.

This poem is not just straightforward--it also nails us, particularly here in America, where most of us are happy to change our ways to save the planet . . . as long as those "ways" are things that do not really affect us in any substantial way, and some of us honestly do not care what happens to others, or the planet. Some climate scientists say we have passed, or are near passing, the point of no return.

When we’re drowning

we’ll do something.

The image of flooded people on their roofs brought back images of Katrina, which was horrifying for myriad reasons. The next image/sentence made me snort-laugh at the horror of it being true; would Americans vote to save a smart baby or a cute baby? A competent person or a showman? Progressive policies or regressive ones? (Argh--sorry. The news is so bad these days, it is hard to not wander off . . . ).

Remember during lockdown when it was reported that dolphins had started swimming in the Venetian canals and we all thought that was so wonderful? And then someone said sharks would be next and we thought that would not be so wonderful? And then we found out that the initial report of frolicking dolphins in the canals was not true? {SIGH}

(I am assuming that Hicok had both Katrina and the dolphins/sharks-in-the-canals in mind, even subconsciously, when he evoked these images in this poem.)

Then the poet gets even more serious. Once rich people start dying/being affected by climate change, then we will do something.

But it gets worse. The things we will fix are rich people things. Then we will turn to violence ("cut down anyone/who cuts down a tree"). Then we will turn our newfound obsessive environmentalism into religion, starring a green Jesus.

Geez, but he really does have us figured out, doesn't he?

Hicok could have ended the poem there and had a devastating poem. But he goes for our collective jugular--our religious fervor turns into absurd beliefs. Sure, we will grow wings. Not only that, these special wings will alllow us to fly to the moon, where we will be safe. No, don't bother me with science-y facts.

And, of course, this will all happen soon.

I think I post a variety of types of poems on this blog. This is one of the gut-punch poems. Hicok has seen us, he knows us, he is one of us, and he calls us out, which is something poets do (and could be part of the reason why so few non-poets actually read poetry).

Check out the amazing anthology, Here, and Catamaran Literary Reader (the page with Hicok's poem has an incredible archival print), and Bob Hicok's other poems, which can be found online, in many journals, and, of course, his books.

I 90% promise to post a cheerier, more hopeful poem on Sunday!