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
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
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.