You went there, you said, on a trip with your father.

A world like a British beach.

Not terrible. Not wonderful.

Rocky. Uncomfortable. The grit of the sand too great.

You stayed though the food was bad. Did your father agree?

Sitting across from you in the only restaurant

as the whirlwind outside

scooped the red sand

threw it into a red sky

and remained indifferent

your meal indifferent

When you came back there were banners, parades

They asked you about the trip. You joked about the food.

Your father's only comment about how strange it was to see Phobos so low in the sky

hanging like swollen fruit

he wanted to reach up and take it in his hand

the reporters didn't understand

How could they?

published 2017 The Veg Magazine