Down Here

Inside the International Space Station

People float like babies in a starry womb.

Rockets bring them enough stuff

So they can be happy way up there

Instead of down here

Where I was told

I should write a poem.

 

Down here, people are dying

Of too much this

And not enough that.

A study just came out:

Everything you thought was good for you

Ain’t.

Maybe you should write a poem.

 

Down here, it’s okay for some people

To be mean to other people.

They’re rich. They’re powerful.

They have a gun! They have a right!

They think they can do what they want.

While the rest of us

Should write a poem.

 

Down here, storms with names make expensive real estate

Go away

Faster than you can say, “location, location, location.”

The wind kills people you may not know personally.

Garbage clogs the gullet

Of a falling sparrow that sings,

“You should write a poem.”

 

Down here, people do all kinds of awful things

On the Internet

Where there’s no up and down.

They have apps that make it easy

For people you don’t know, to think they know

Everything about you.

Except the poem you should write

 

So that aliens on distant planets

Who have really big guns

Or angels in heaven

Who have terrible swift swords

Can peer down on us and

Let us continue to do all that we do

Just because they like our poems.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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