by Lee Nash
I can leave the crow but not the swallow.
I can say goodbye to ants and insects
but today is shorter than tomorrow
so we must have sushi, saunas and sex.
I can do without my morning coffee,
and propagate tea in the geodome;
I’ll find a good spot in the ancient sea
to fashion myself an alien home;
it won’t be spacious, but it will suffice,
my starter-pod on the planet of war –
a corner to hang my breathing device.
We know you’ll forget us on Earth’s fine shore
but hope that at times you’ll look to the skies
and ask what we do when one of us dies.
Published in "Devices" anthology, Wordrunner eChapbooks, March 2016.