I decided to use my life in a way that seemed good.
I railed against injustice and the despoliation of the world.
I wondered about the world my grandchildren might inhabit
And wailed woe on their behalf.
And then I saw the bill for the electricity that I’d used
In simply being and I had to laugh.
I went to see a Silurian seabed this weekend past.
Four hundred and twenty million years old
With fossil seashells that still hadn’t opened.
And my life became a very short thing indeed.
A fragment of a whirling, exploding thing
That spins in space for a short while
And then ceases to be.
And what part did I play?
Well, I tried to make it matter.
Even if it didn’t.
But for my short span,
I needed to believe I was worth it,
However much pretence that required.
Vapid dot thing am I.