Colony Love Story

The howling of the Gorlocks

only makes me think of you.

They shriek all through the night,

pitch-black nights that are two years long,

and it’s godawful,

but I remember how we used to laugh

and try to turn the deafening

squawks and yelps

into a love song.

I barely notice now

when I’m stung by a venomous screep.

The fire flowing through my throbbing limbs

does not touch my empty heart.

The stinging wind

blows all the sand off our moldering coworkers

in their graves.

I occupy myself reburying them

when I’m bored of walking on the treadmill

or watching the same shows and old movies.

But I’m glad you got out.

I really am.

I wish there had been room for two,

but it was the gift I gave to you.

I pretend that the blinking stars in the red sky

are a coded message from you,

that every screaming meteor

that slams into this moon

is a gift from you.

I scan the red sky

for your shuttle,

a shuttle I know will never return,

not for a thousand years, at least.