Maybe, if we all look to the sky
On the next cold, clear night,
Seek out Mars shining there like
A red-hot coal and wish really hard
Opportunity will wake.
Children do it all the time
And it seems to work for them.
On Christmas Eve they lie in bed,
Eyes squeezed tight, fighting off sleep,
Hoping to hear the stairs creaking
As Santa creeps down to leave
Gifts beneath their tree – and next morning
There they are.
When a tooth falls out they hide the white nugget
Beneath their pillow, wishing and hoping
For a calcium-deficient fairy to swap it
For a coin – and one magically appears.
Why can’t it work for us?
For two long months now we’ve waited
For her to phone home, checking our laptops
And phones to see if someone at JPL
Has Tweeted “She’s alive!”
But all we hear is silence.
Although her dust-curdled sky
Is clearing now, the softly-falling fines
Leaving Endeavour looking even rustier than before
Our brave girls sleeps on, deep in
A power saving mode computer coma,
Unaware of the sols passing,
Every marmalade-hued sunrise and sunset
Going unseen.
So maybe, if we all look to the sky
On the next cold, clear night,
Seek out Mars, and wish really hard
She’ll hear us, open up her gritty eyes
And with a yawn come back to life.
Let’s try.
© Stuart Atkinson 2018
