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

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