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Mr. Grencache
II. Solar Sailor
q-q-quite the opposite, Mr. Grenache,
i haven�t seen your daughter all day.
o she�s a fine lock of hair,
an attitude to kill for,
but what in her swimmingpools of eyes
has ever seen daylight, and what, if it did,
would it make of the glory-burning hell-hole
which is the bomb that fuels the day?
i suspect that on discovering not
gentle iced-tea rivers and faun-like afternoons but rather
a burgeoning flower of flaming fusion,
and in place of sea-shore breezes
a cosmic monsoon to lay to waste all those who dare survive a while,
she�d be, to phrase it gently, taken aback,
maybe even a little worried,
when she spied me poling my skiff,
grimy-eyed and grinning from the nebulae and cluster-dust,
hailing down on Earth and aiming
straight into her eyes.
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