by Nick Gisburne
A hundred miles from anywhere, from home.
It never seemed so distant, not before,
But dark, corroded steel and battered chrome
Remind him, as the sensor readings soar.
A hundred miles. He’d walk it in a week,
Through deserts, mountains, tracks and trails, or trees,
But not from here. This tiny bubble, bleak,
Will bend and break. In minutes he will freeze.
A hundred miles, in one direction: down.
How tenuous the barrier to space.
From cities, grand and great, from every town,
There is no closer threat, no darker place.
A hundred miles, a trip he cannot take,
The journey home impossible to make.
