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๐—–๐—ฎ๐—บ๐—ฝ๐—ด๐—ฟ๐—ผ๐˜‚๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐—ข๐˜„๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ญ๐—ผ๐—ธ๐—ฟ๐—ฎ

๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜‘๐˜ฐ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฏ ๐˜Ž๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜บ



Itโ€™s Summer.

Yellow sky,

five moons in a cluster

like the shiny purple ponds,

all bordered

by fancy white zathustra flowers.


Itโ€™s Saturday, Earth time.

And another family

flies in from that planet.

Father, son and daughter

haul supplies up to the cottage.

The mother takes time

to reconnoiter her surrounds,

infuse the landscape

with memories of other trips

to this Eden.


I hand them the keys,

wish them well,

hurry off to greet the other ships

as they land.

Itโ€™s their vacation.

Itโ€™s my business.


Unlike on Earth,

the air here is fresh and breathable,

the waters pure,

the food edible,

the forests uncontaminated,

the mountains whole,

and thereโ€™s room to move

without trampling on a neighbor.


Unlike Earthlings,

Iโ€™m not going anywhere.



ย 

John Greyย is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review and Rathalla Review. Latest books, Covert, Memory Outside The Head and Guest Of Myself are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and Open Ceilings.


Speculative fiction & POETRY ZINE
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