Mars

What an appalling pun to start off with, but I still like the ideas...

Mars bars the way to the stars.
As far as we can see, nobody
lives there, who'll show us how
to land in all that sand.
And our technology's no better
there than here at traffic flow
and safe parking. There's no
x marking the spot. And
the weather is too hot.
So. Mars bars the way to the stars
as far as we can see
in our galaxy. The hand
of God The Traffic Cop remains
blatantly invisible.

Are we being watched
by a mysterious someone,
found risible, bonkers, as we take such pains
to conquer the infinite bright darkness? Is someone
or something out there,
armed with inconceivably sophisticated brains
and wishing us no harm,
making and marking maps of the history
of our botched attempts
at mastery? Or are they too
similarly baffled creatures who,
with puckered alien features,
try their own little jumps
on to the lumps in their vicinity, dimly aware
that their own particular
Mars, like ours,
probably bars
the way to their own little clump of stars,
(while allowing, as we all would be wise
to do, for any surprise
the Supreme Being has playfully released
down the cosmic piste
millions of years ago,
for all we know)?

It's nice to think
we might have distant company
floating about and emoting
about their destiny –
a guess, to be sure,
but a possible cure
for our overweening
egocentric preening.

© David Collins 8th February 2004