Methane Aliens
We’re looking for a whiff of air,
A half-beat of a heart –
To prove that life is what we share,
That we’re no race apart:
However minimal the sound,
How hard-to-hear the noise –
In the distance, underground –
We wait with equipoise,
For honestly, a single hint
Of life out there, unknown,
Means that our spirits, morally skint,
Are not upon their own.
Your leaders, full of rancid puff,
Mean more than moon and stars.
They fart and burp: what splendid stuff!
We’re not alone on Mars.
Click here for a Guardian article
Click here to buy a copy of Bill’s poetry collection Ringers
Click here for Bill's New Statesman research project
