Distopian Megaformation

Why are you over there, you massive white beast?

In the North, near the moon instead of Southeast.

The fear takes me over, as I fall to the ground,

and my eyes start to water as my trousers are browned.

I’m confused my great cumulo-friend, at how this can be.

You’re not meant to be there, though you may disagree.

I tighten my belt as I hop to my feet.

And I shout to the skies “White Light! White Heat!”

Then my temperature steadies and I paw my own eyes.

I pack up my rucksack and say my goodbyes.

For my affair with you is over and I must return home,

To my job as a chemist who makes polyurethane foam.

© Mark John Peacock 2009