1945

 

   

In North Canton on a site
as scenic as they come,
hillside splendor overlooking
New England seasonal grandeur,
they are building a grand house,
which I am sure will be inhabited someday
by somebody of equal position & stature.

And if the evening sky is clear, and the time’s right,
and the need is there some night,
that somebody will sigh in contentment
for some reason, incomprehensible,
while sitting out on the back deck
with such a clear line of sight that even Jupiter
will be seen with just the naked eye,
still marveled at from afar,
even though the Galileo probe

(What a magnificent human feat…)

has pierced the layers of gas
surrounding that distant sphere,
searching now for signs of mass, water
and the ever sought—intelligent life.

And still in another part of the universe,
in a University of Chicago meeting room,
many minds of incredible skill & depth
are tentatively moving the hands
of the Doomsday clock created in 1946
(quite coincidentally, the year I was born),
to & fro, to & fro, positioning & repositioning them,

for the 15
th time since back then;
deliberating & defining & finally deciding
just how important the investment
in that wonderful
  house in North Canton
and the Galileo probe, circling & probing Jupiter,

will really be for anybody in the future,
which is really now, and will always be
right now, since 1945.