8/24/17 2:15 PM
"I Miss My Baby" -Funkadelic, 1972
In America, we bomb the moon
No, really
On the same day they gave Obama the Peace Prize
They blew up part of the moon
To study the wreckage
They took samples of the destruction
To understand the whole
What do the moon men think?
Foreign countries attacking their footing
Destroying to better know what it is made of
Do the lunar settlers see why we are doing this?
Or do they see impersonal fusillades
Violent strikes from thousands of miles away
By a bored computer tech
In America, we fly metal vultures everywhere
Over desert hills and contested waters
Bombing desert grey scopes and hoping the land turns up tolerance
Scorching swaths of what becomes lunar emptiness
Right here on earth
NASA used to send golden records into the cosmos
Grooved with whale noises and ancient string music
Great minds created an intergalactic toaster
With 8 track players and impossibly long radio tethers
Something lasting, a spacecraft made to be ancient
And now?
We bomb whatever lunar desert we can find
-
Author:
Big Swifty (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 31st, 2017 00:24
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 10
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.