Poetry
For Sojourner
Sometimes you drive the rover and sometimes
the rover drives you. Either way, the land is unforgiving
and there you are, steering through ancient rock beds
like they hold the secrets of the Universe,
camera eyes wide open, antenna craned toward the dark
Next week, you might be flipped—
like a toy abandoned mid-play.
Or stuck in sand, tires spinning
against a world that never wanted you.
If only you knew which transmission
was your swan song. You could go out
skimming the edge of Valles Marineris,
You could touch the ice caps and bless them with your heat.
There’ll be good headlines and muted cheer from Houston tonight.
Tomorrow, it could be static. That’s the price:
you win some, lose some, stall some.
Then someone reads your logs
and wonders what to do with you at the end.
—Adegboyega Kayowa