Graveyard orbit

For many years we studied Earth,
observing and sharing global data.
We spun around with bleeping chatter,
charting changes in the weather.

Whether sea or land, it didn't matter;
we flirted as we explored the planet.
Your cheeky glow and secret scatter
lit up our place with increased desire.

But every ship is forced to retire,
as technology detects and dictates our fate.
Contracts end and missions expire.
The countdown to powerdown now awaits.

The next generation is on its way
to shove us into oblivion.
No thank-yous, no appreciation,
just deletions as we fade away.

We may disconnect when we die,
thousands of miles above Earth's sky.
But we'll float together, engaged forever
in a graveyard orbit, just you and I.

Home

Tsk

The kiss of contempt and the hiss of horror

as I attempted to pay for my fruit and veg.

Behind me whispers and middle class poses,

the superior sniff of bourgeois noses.

I put my card in but fucked up the pin,

with patience running increasingly thin.

Contactless mode was disabled by then, 

while cash was sparse, around one pound ten. 

Matilda at the till tapped her fingernails

as the queue grew and awkwardness too.

Why not try the self-checkout machine? 

Instructions are clearly marked on the screen.

You failed again? Get out, she said,

and buy ready meals from Poundland instead.