Fleeing From My Country

Fleeing from my country, 
Should have been a big to-do,
But it was just a Saturday, 
In the mid morning in June.

I cried a lot, I must admit, 
As I thought of memories, 
But my home did not, give a shit, 
That it had made me flee.

Like a dog, too self-obsessed,
To care for other breeds. 
Or notice that, it’s their stench, 
That makes it hard to breathe. 

So why would they, worry now,
That it’s the day I leave. 
It’s just a warm, Saturday —  
They’re out pissing on the trees. 

So as I board, this aeroplane, 
And take my wistful seat, 
I know that they, are out to play, 
In a park that’s by the beach. 

The stewardess, she dims the lights, 
The engines pump their heat, 
While spoiled dogs, And spoiled brats, 
Act entitled to their treats. 

I’m leaving now, this rotten place, 
Where apathy succeeds, 
Don’t send me cards, Don’t write me notes, 
Don’t wish now for my peace. 
For I was there, on the day, 
When you could have stood by me.
But instead, you were out,
Pissing on the trees.