I live in the cloud shade of Drax Power station,
The largest coal fired variety in Western Europe,
And alone responsible for 8% of Britain’s energy,
Regardless of the additional vigour of its two brothers.
If you were to stop atop Boothferry Bridge, which pitches
The M62 over the Ouse, you’d see the three of them spreading
Towards Leeds and realize just how much this country needs their
Electricity even as they cough carbon into the atmosphere’s garden.
But this is the cost isn’t it, the price of our hypocrisy,
When we spout about the planet and its green scenery
We do so from the comfort of our heated seats and podiums
And seldom ask if winter could be passed with less thermostat.
And when we do request less usage it’s seldom only mooted by
The rich and famous fools who shoot around the globe in private
Jets just to let us know the urgency of their concern, and whose own
Palaces are insulated with enough walls to afford less warmth inside.
And though ordinary soldiers of ecology are similarly
Horrified by our species’ waste, they handle their appeals
A little better and try to set their arguments in the real world
Instead of expecting us to burn fat in order to stay warm in winter.
But what do I know; I walk everywhere and never fly, central
Heating is unknown in my abode and I only speak when spoken
To so my footprint is limited to a slight indentation, although as I’m
The proudest of Yorkshire’s men I really should hate its smoking guns.