by Nick Gisburne
My five-year-old designs a cure for ‘that’.
When pressed for proof, the proof is what we give.
But now they want to ‘have a little chat’,
And swiftly seal the street in which we live.
More science is efficiently applied,
A mist she made to medicate the mind,
And, while they sleep, we leave our home, to hide,
Protected, saved, by others of our kind.
We seem to be the cause of some concern.
The media, fixated, find ‘a threat’.
Enormous opportunities to learn
Are precious, yes? But no, not here, not yet.
The world we try to help would rather die
Than take the hand of strangers from the sky.
