Our blue green world is going to POT
Not the stuporous, cheering kind
The elating, fascinating kind
The happily beclouding kind
The angst all a-blurring sort
No, all that it certainly is not

But our world is going to POT
Not the souffle baking sort
Not the healthy steaming kind
Not the chicken tikka fry
Nor the chuck roast braising sort
No, none of that comforting lot

But our world is going to POT
Not the bowel movement kind
The cleansing of the intestines
The calming morning ritual kind
The 1 kg load lessening sort
No, of the closet family it’s not

But our world is going to POT
Moral compass broken down
Compassion harder to be found
Dignity, serenity, gratefulness
Are just so many hollow sounds
In the flowing waters of life
From cresting fullness back to the ground

Yes, our world is going to POT
Not the stuporous, cheering kind
Not the soufflé baking sort
Not the morning ritual kind.
But the saddening, maddening sort
The depressing, disappointing sort
The “I’m done with it. Over and out.”
That’s how our world is going to pot.