I have enough fuel to travel 511 kilometres;
535, if I stay on the flat.
I have enough food to spare
And an opportunity to get more supplies.
Don’t worry if your tarpaulin disappears,
Or if you pass out before I reach you.
If you’re close to death, I’ll stretch out my hands to greet you,
By which time you’ll be conscious
And safely entwined in orange ribbons.
Perhaps the world will watch:
Perhaps it won’t.
Either way, we’ll lift you to the safety
Of the mother ship.
Currently, I’m travelling uphill
Hang on, I beseech you
I can see in the eyes of those I pass,
That should I fail, they’ll reach you.
Bring you aboard, finally able to stop wondering aimlessly
On this treadmill,
Staring out into space, asking
Who are you? A green light signals my next move.
Yesterday’s problem was manoeuvrability: today’s is a knuckle sandwich (how to get the message across without drawing blood).
There are no dogs in this city,
I can’t see any dogs,
But there is plenty of air and water
And then we’ll listen.
Learn how you survived.