Short Story


The Earth
is neither our enabler
nor our bitch
with which
we can do as we please
with impunity.

It may appear to us
that she doesn't mind
or is unable to resist
our abusive advances.
But her conception of time
is infinite
and the brief minute
of our extistence
is just that,
an infinitesimal blip
on her millennial radar screen.

And should we cross the line
we are unaware that she has drawn

... gone ...

like dinosaurs
stumbling over the tripwire
of evolution's Claymore mine.

And our Mother
will merely turn the page
and write an alternate story line.


- Vi Ransel