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by a..b
Rated: E · Poetry · Cultural · #2219770
It's somewhere between reality, romance, and allusion.
The base was well constructed,
The bunks were okay enough,
And the time in which we lived in normal clothes,
Was what we treasured most,
In a surprise of sorts,
We asked for a doctor,
In case of emergencies,
But some with humor,
Sent us a priest,
And now one of the rooms is a church,
And injuries we'd all like to avoid,
Because final prayers we're hoping to avoid,
The bus visits our far out location,
Once every three weeks,
But we're all on contract here,
So none of us are leaving,
Yet that is where the two found love,
Locked up here in isolation,
Learning with plants and animals,
All locked up nice and tight,
Imagine living in a white room,
Our botanist is up all night,
Oh, the geologists enjoy their duty,
The math types always have models to make,
But when too much time is spent in reruns and email,
Something not allowed is going to happen,
And that girl and that guy fell in love,
Without even germs around to stop them,
And that priest was a hope to them,
While all of us thought with fear,
But to them it meant they could marry,
And maybe never ever leave here,
Still one has to realize,
Priest don't deliver babies,
Hospitals are kind of needed,
So after yelling and screaming from command,
Breaking contract and not meeting demands,
The priest gave them one task before they could marry,
Each read the Bible from the first page through all the many,
So they did, each did on their own,
And the priest did the duty, risking his neck,
Figuring if one goes, two will survive,
Because those two read the book that never dies,
And months later pregnancy came,
Dismissed to desk instead of discharged,
Only because of ladies banding together in complaint,
The guy still had no legal reason,
That he was allowed back,
So the contracts would be fulfilled,
And his child would know him,
Through screen and film.
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