(x = space)

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Partly inspired by “There Will Come Soft Rains,” a chapter in The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury.  This part of the story speaks to what is left of us.  The chapter’s sad.  Nonetheless I often think upon it.

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Sci-Fied

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Should the bombs fall

And I am atomized

And you

And the insects shall find

Nourishment

Not through flesh

(I’m atomized

so are you)

But through bits of trash

I had not the time

To take our back

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And shall the Earth survive

To have another age

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I remember

In the days of Strontium

We said we could

Destroy the planet’s crust

And so leave

The molten mass

The could heave

Or be

Settled down

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Nostalgia

For a future guess

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The Earth might have

Its own

As it once held us

There could be bees

And flowers for the bees

Or something

For pollen

So that something could

Pollenate

And there be land

With flora

Feeding

And softening

What’s left of our platforms

For another age

Of Earth

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Arthropodic

Or could it be with feathers

Things that move

And have their being

Avoiding shadows

Form which

There used to be

Something in charge

Though now

The lesson’s different

This time

The arthropods

And feathered things

Have sentience

And speak gospel

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While the Earth

In its own way

We never got

Though it was there

Shall smile

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C L Couch

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Photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash

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