Parable of a Living Planet’s Fate

Earth is a table
Set for an angel,
A table that turns
And goes on turning.

Ha! Cries the angel,
Evening and morning,
What will you do now
The tables have turned?

The settings all cling
To where they were placed
To serve the angel
Who loves tables turned.

Every so often,
The angel grows bored.
Once, the angel seized
The tablecloth’s edge,

Then yanked the whole thing
In a white flourish
From under settings
Somehow still in place.

Ta-da! The angel
Cried out to deep space,
Arms full of linen
Forever displaced.