On the far side of the moon
You can’t go out to play:
The air’s too thin, it’s far too cold
And you’d likely float away:
On the far side of the moon
You have to stay indoors
In metal rooms with metal walls
And tables, seats and floors:
You sleep in zipped-up thermal pods
That hang down from the wall
Your meals are tubes of gooey paste
That have no taste at all.
Your Mum and Dad are boffins
Who’ll work six months or so –
If was either travel with them
Or stay with Auntie Flo.
Outside it’s pitch-black day and night
The dust and rocks stretch out of sight
There’s nothing there for you to see
Not a single blade of grass or tree:
There’s nowhere for a dog to romp
Or chase a stick or ball –
On the far side of the moon in fact
You can’t have pets at all.
You can’t spend the whole day texting
You can’t surf the internet –
You’re on the far side of the moon
And they haven’t reached there yet.
You must stay inside and let time bide
In your spaceship’s tiny nooks –
TV? Forget it kiddo –
Just as well you brought those books.
So on the dark side of the moon
At least your mind can roam –
But please – don’t touch the buttons
Or you may not get back home.
John McCallum
1 comment:
What a childhood. Not for me or mine. With all the whiz-bang technology we have today, the thought of such an imprisonment is an horryific thought.
I do like the images you have created and can see the misery which would befall any unfortunate child to be in such a place.
Obviously John, you spent some time there yourself and have with suoerb timing returned to warn us all about the perile of the miseries of life on the 'far side'. Thanks.
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