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From Mark Peacock

From Mark Peacock

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

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