Bio Note: There is a lot to worry about these days, more than ever, I think. But maybe that’s because I’m getting older and see consequences more clearly than I did at twenty. Worry does me no good, though, just keeps me up at night in Connecticut, where I live, write, teach and am poet laureate of my town.
WHAT WE SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT
“We worry that the next asteroid is going to take us out. I’m telling you. It’s going to happen.” (Welcome to the Universe, p. 148)
The sun will last 10 billion years,
and we’re 4.6 billion in.
That end isn’t the problem. Probably,
someone will move in down the street--
like a Hale-Bopp, say, who could have
slammed us and boom, Bob’s your uncle,
only he’s not,
because now Bob’s stardust,
free-floating elements, looking
for new ones to bond with,
as if it wasn’t hard enough finding a lover
in your one-square-block
New York City neighborhood.
No, what we should worry about
is always the middle,
where we coat our fish in crude oil,
incinerate our forests,
birth our children in burning air.
© 2018 Laurel Peterson
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