Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /52
Space Cadets
A poem by Michael Hawkes
There’ll be no popping out for a pint of milk
from the colony on Mars.
There’ll be no airplanes flitting about,
no bookshops, trains or cars.
There’ll be many joys to do without;
we earthlings have our lucky stars.
It’s unlikely that there’ll be much scope
for unscrupulous enterprise,
it’s doubtful there’ll be any hope
for inflation, ego-wise,
and unfortunates who need their dope
will see the distance cut supplies.
The folks like Bezos, Musk and Branson,
whose raisons d’être’s making more,
could hold the colony for ransom,
start an interplanetary war
or any kind of scam that helps them
see their investments gain galore.
Hey friends, it’s cooler here on earth,
safer, tamer, more manageable,
despite the fires and droughts and dearth
the issues are more tangible,
and here on the clod that gave us birth
they’re slightly more survivable.
These plutocrats, to save mankind,
go to limitless extremes,
while watching systems here unwind
they finance their fantastic schemes,
as Gaia’s plans are undermined
their sole concerns are profit streams.
When life itself is super-ceded
by men who cannot feel disgrace,
let’s put resources here where needed,
resist the lure of outer space;
if cosmic laws were truly heeded
we’d worry for more than the human race.
19/4/21 – Hawkes
Feature image: RODNAE Productions, Pexels
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