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Any Old Iron
He’s a modern Harold Steptoe
With his reclamation machine
Very few planets on the Galaxy
On which he’s not already been.
He’s got every known Wormhole
Marked on his Galaxy Survey Map
And he proceeds always with caution
In case the bizzies have laid a trap.
He likes to arrive early morning
An hour or two before dawn
And if it’t not well tied down
In a blink of an eye it’s gone.
Atomised and miniaturised
And stored in a stasis cell
Until he finds the right market
Where he’s knows it will sell.
He’s a bit of a cultural joker
With his sophisticated tricks
His speciality these days being
Making unlikely civilisations mix.
Archaeologists and Architects
Ponder their theories witn great care
As to how the Temples of Angkor Watt
Had suddenly been built just there.
The Galactic Culture Police Force
Know exactly just who’s been.
It’s our Modern Harold Steptoe
And his reclamation machine.
For too many eons they’ve tried
With red and embarrassed faces
To explain to Planetary Wardens why
They suddenly have large empty spaces.
He’s a modern Harold Steptoe
With his reclamation machine
Very few planets on the Galaxy
On which he’s not already been.
The bizzies want him desperately
But he’s very seldom seen
And by the time they get there
It’s too late he’s already been.
Copyright ©
Terry Ireland
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