Outgoing

I watched “I Am Greta” and was touched.
So much hate for the girl
who could just not not speak.

This is us:
Crossing the ocean on the sailboat,
because flying is a no,
worrying over our overfed dog back home
who stole dinner from the table
while he should be on a diet.

This is the state of our world:
Blurry, blurry, overweight.
Still green but emptying.
Outgoing.
The gate is open
and the hordes are coming,
in search of this:
a green empty space
with the illusion of plenty,
where the bag is still half full,
but it’s slowly going,
going out,
until it’s down to the last frontier,
the last front,
the last grunt.

I no longer like myself.
I’m getting used to not caring.

Outgoing

I'm turning into empty weight,
the one thing that will keep me hanging on
a little longer.

Until then I keep dreaming of the hordes
passing our home,
and I know it’s just a question of time
until the first one decides to stop.