We are prisoners in our smart suburban houses,
our chic city apartments,
yet think we are free.
We ignore the cries of the lost and the poor,
the laments of the dying
We don’t listen to the gathering thunder,
the growling sounds
We don’t see the towering walls
of debris and water
hanging over us.
We will awake too late
to begin scouring
paths of escape.
Thanks to Jemima for letting me use the line 'scouring paths of escape' from her excellent poem: Big Come Down.