Oh how soon you forget!
When this gaping dust- and grit-filled eye socket
shocked you with its size you cried
“We are here!” and after peering over my shoulder
for months, watching the hump-backed horizon
crawl closer, suddenly you found yourselves
tumbling through a hidden door and falling
into a magical martian Narnia, where crumbling
cliffs and outcrops bathed in syrupy sunlight
promised wonders without end!
Now, before my fine-scratched digital eyes
have gazed at Great Victoria’s ragged eastern side
you would send me south – towards a
Time-worn hole that is barely even there?
Do you care nought for me? Have I not breathed
new life into this bold, cold New World of yours?
Would you despatch me to a distant shore
you all suspect in your conspiring hearts
is much too far for me to reach?
Has Barsoom bored you all so soon?
Fine. I will go. Ithaca shall be my goal,
my final “Holy Grail”. But when I fail,
when my worn and weary wheels cannot free
themselves from some unseen, undulating
dune you’ll rue the day you made me
turn my dusty back on Beacon and its company
of cliffs, and will admit that you were rash
to order me to dash towards a coffee-cup stain
“crater” so many crazy K’s away
and watch me die.
I am just going outside… and may be some time…
© Stuart Atkinson 2008