Under the spires of steel and tinted chrome,
We scroll through lives we’ll never afford to own.
The ads say we’re hungry. We obey.
The ads will fix the thing they took away.

The oceans gasp. I scroll past one more reef.
The bees are dying. I click past the grief.
My thermostat hums. My coffee traveled far.
I know the cost. I warm up the car.

The planet warms. I book another flight.
The forests fall. I scroll into the night.
I know the words: reduce, reuse, restrain.
I add them to my cart and click: Amen.

I see the cliff approaching. So do you.
We’ve talked about it. There’s still work to do.
The meeting drags on. The glacier lets go.
I mute myself. I watch the circus grow.

The sirens wail. I check my notifications.
My child asks why. I give her explanations.
I say we’re trying. I say it’s complex.
I tuck her in. I doom-scroll what comes next.

The feed refreshes. Nothing has been solved.
I know my part. I remain uninvolved.
My child sleeps. The oceans rise.
I close the app. I close my eyes.