Greta Rattles Her Cage

I’m not amphibious, nor am I the shepherd’s dog. I got hooves but I’m no boar. My mind can fly, but I got no wings. What’s more I ain’t wild, I’s domesticated, I know where and when to lay, where I don’t belong, and when the food’s comin’. My ancestry has fed millions of y’all. That’s right, y’all got a little piece of mine inside ya. Look here! Hey! If no response I’m good as dead. This is a sad state of affairs. Wake up! I ain’t got the time. We’s countin’ down.
Can ya feel me? Can ya feel me?

Hey out there! SOS man! This here is a rising sideways cluster f**k. Don’t be dumb, dude, I’m not. I’m a spotted Caribbean pig, thus the spots and the overall look of disrespect. They call me Greta. I am daughter of the Animal Farm revolutionary instigator, the very one who stayed true to the cause. I’m young and fit and smart as they come.
I’ll squeal and curl up my tail if you tickle my belly.

I jumped the fence when the barn collapsed, waded the stream, swam the overflowing river. There’s no place left
to go, the roof is gone, the towels left out in the rain, there’s no place to catch a dry moment. The water is wet and
it is wet everywhere. Where’s the high tech, meta scientific solution, the magic wand that transforms all this into a happy hay filled landscape. Rescue now would require helicopters, thousands of them. Or maybe clouds could be strung with strings strong enough to lift and carry me away. Look here – nobody looks good in this compromised position. Desperation forces us to our knees, purposely taking on
a humble posture to beg for your mercy.

Empty blue above, far as the eyes can see, tattered clouds reveal nothing, green below, and the waters rising, man. Where’s the damn arc?

Greta Rattles Her Cage

I got a ticket tattooed to my pink underbelly. I can’t believe you want us to go this way. It’s a waste of a sow, not to mention those grilled ribs and roasts Jesus his self might spill a little saliva over. Why Lord, why hast thou decided to take your island back, sink it like a ship into oblivion?

Anyway who’s guiltless in all this? There ain’t gonna be no judge, no courthouse to lay judgment. Does it matter who is and who ain’t innocent? Maybe there was more I could’ve done. Maybe it be you, the greedy swine, the swindler, the robber baron who greedily drank up all the water and spit
it out all at once, drowning so many. Some say the sky is full of holes – maybe so, for the same selfish reasons. Somebody wants it all and they don’t care if the whole kit and caboodle goes down with it.