Julia would like to dedicate this page to her beloved mother, Miriam Griffin (1935-2018)
Space is full of dirty, toxic grease, scientists reveal—The Guardian, June 2018
How cleanly shines each little star
On Heaven’s mantelpiece;
And how discomfited we are
To learn that shine is grease!
It’s carbon, carbon everywhere:
A sooty mantle clings
To asteroid and polar Bear,
And gums up Saturn’s rings.
The gleaming surface of the Moon,
So wondered at of late,
Now calls to mind a Greasy Spoon
Along the Interstate;
And what’s suggested to our ears
(However this may gall)
Is less the Music of the Spheres
And more a burger stall.
With every year our views expand
Through more of outer space,
To slake that thirst to understand,
Distinctive of our race:
O what’s their due of gratitude,
Those scientists whose prods
Have proved how worlds unknown exude
The junkfood of the gods?
When I am dead, my dearest,
Thou wilt be wholly free
To load me with exotic shrubs
And hug them mournfully;
But since the air of England
Is ever somewhat wet,
Whether thou wilt, I wonder;
That they will wilt, I bet.
Charon’s barque reached the wharf,
Met by Cerberus’ bark:
And the corpses shrieked “Gettitorff!”
Till out of the dark
Came a noise of guzzling nuzzles;
And there in the reeds
A woman stood, rubbing three muzzles
On her English tweeds.
“Don’t know about this!” huffed Charon;
“Queen P’s got a rule—”
But the woman boomed: “Keep your hair on!
I know Seff from school.
I’ve been missing my dear old terrier
Since I popped m’clogs;
And I say the more the merrier,
When it comes to dogs.”
Julia Griffin divides her time between Georgia, USA, and Oxford, England. She is falling out of love with Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.