In a few weeks I will go off-
grid. I will hang in a hammock
supported by trees I have not named
and will likely ignore except
when I thank them for their
small sacrifice of bark
because I am not adept at camping
nor survival, aside from the
few moments I was forced to
endure
But that is a story for another time,
another poem.
Oh yes. In this crazy world in which we are living, to go off grid. The poet sounds tired and ready for a break. She knows she should name the trees and gives a nod to that, but she’s so tired of it all. So many of us can identify with the sentiment she’s not expressed.