TIN CAN ALLEY
Orbital debris, my ocean of grief.
Fourth rock from the fire, my time will be brief.
Eclipsed by mankind and shrouded in black.
Vexed and impure on the wrong starry track.
Solar to polar, please feel my disease !
Righteous afflictions, being borne out of greed.
Children do starve while my garden is ripe.
Give strength to the meek, please show them the light.
I am the ointment while man is the fly.
Angered at junkyard that litters my sky.
Sometimes I spew my flames of dis-pleasure.
Respect me please ! For I am and your treasure.
From Tin Can Alley, I look at the stars.
"How would you like to be living on Mars ?"