We need quarters like King Tut needed a boat. A slave could row him to
by Harryette Mullen
heaven from his crypt in Egypt full of loot. We’ve lived quietly among the
stars, knowing money isn’t what matters. We only bring enough to tip the
shuttle driver when we hitch a ride aboard a trailblazer of light. This comet
could scour the planet. Make it sparkle like a fresh toilet swirling with blue.
Or only come close enough to brush a few lost souls. Time is rotting as our
bodies wait for now I lay me down to earth. Noiseless patient spiders paid
with dirt when what we want is star dust. If nature abhors an expensive
appliance, why does the planet suck ozone? This is a big ticket item, a
thickety ride. Please page our home and visit our sigh on the wide world’s
ebb. Just point and cluck at our new persuasion shoes. We’re opening the
gate that opens our containers for recycling. Time to throw down and take
off on our launch. This flight will nail our proof of pudding. The thrill of
victory is, we’re exiting earth. We’re leaving all this dirt.