the gentle art

a gentle science fiction
has taken me
from small town
to the sky

it doesn’t want much
to get me there
just a jet pack
and a helmet

perhaps a bubble
filled with oxygen
and me
that rises

rises
up

maybe I just thought
the thought
of floating
above the blue orb

or
I only saw it
as a speck
such as grit
removed from the eye
of Sol

and spun away

I believe that I imagined
me
within a sleek and silver tin can
in some other galaxy
suddenly
in the fight of my life

well
how about that
just one second out
of warp speed
into a dogfight

pow pow pow

pow pow pow

in the middle of the darkest space
turning round
running for home

so much for
gentle

science fiction
is the seat-of-my-pants
because
the shields are down

(oh no)

communications off
and no-one cares
about me

except
to shoot me
without hesitation
back to earth

maybe
to eat me

arrghh
the hell with this

science fiction

now
I’m going to turn my mind
to a yacht
in brilliant white
sailing on blue
running smooth
as a dream

you and I
a peaceful harbor

and at night
the shooting stars

comprised
of returning debris
from some
gentle science
fiction


© Frank Prem, 2017

March 2017 Poem #3: goodnight colours

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3 thoughts on “the gentle art

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