Me: hey, what’s up?
Tree: the sky.
Me: haven’t heard that one before.
Me: no but seriously. how are you?
Tree: I’m fucked mate. I’m the last one standing.
Tree: wanna wave at the sky with me?
I am the revolution fought by the water against the kettle
slow, cruel, bubbling away at the plastic
burning like hate and time
and drunken recriminations over cups of spiked Earl Grey tea