Next, Mars Poem by D A Phinney

As a baby began he, clad in the loins.
From the tree the descent, the cry at the start
That startles the world and shakes both apart
To his future of grains, gods, wars, cars, and coins,
To her future defiled, denuded, alone,
Enshrouded in maggotry, desert and stone.

As a child she nurtured, he took till he spat.
He wandered in plenty, but bowed to the sun.
Dependency chafed him, and, with fear overrun,
Sought safety from wind, water, lion and gnat,
Sough a deep hole to hide in where fire could burn,
To abide safe in numbers. He'd teach her. She'd learn.

With youth there came pride, he would show her what for;
And he raked at her skin, preferring food mealy,
As he forced her to give what she'd once given freely.
Then his garden he guarded and girded for war,
For the animals raided, the bugs, rain and drought
All conspired to his ruin, but he'd not be put out.

His manly fist shook, held tools without number,
Turning road to rail, runway, house to sky-scratcher,
Hospital into humanity-hatcher,
Trowel into tractor, trees into lumber,
Learning all of her secrets; learning to kill
The only one could have saved him from his will.

Now he stands a young godling, his triumph complete
Inside shoes, clothes, cars, houses, pavement, steel, glass,
Inside TV, books, stadia, cyberspace, mass;
He insulate stands o'er her, dust at his feet,
And he bombs her and dams her and mines her and rapes her
Till exhaustion, when he, in his madness, escapes her.