Infallible, unsinkable, inconceivable: a bell curve in three parts

by John Stassek

Infallible

A
sliver
of green
and fertile
earth, far from
other lands. Poly-
nesians settled long
ago, and came to under-
stand. Three days of labor,
tilling the soil, could feed them-
selves all year. Easter Island was
paradise. They found a good life here.

Time was abundant, since food was so easy,
to grow in the rich fertile soil. Idle minds couldn’t
be controlled, thought the leaders, royal. Something was
needed to occupy and otherwise engage, by sweat. Good
stone was there, to offer the gods; all their requirements met.

Statues were carved, fierce images in stone, most weighing dozens of
tons. Trees by the thousands were cut for roads; down to the coast they run.
Infallible gods watch as the clans compete: Who will the winner be? Thousands
more fell, for levers and rolls, to move those blocks down to the sea.

The work went on, for years and years, till finally there was only one tree. Soil
depleted by overuse; no trees meant the rain could run free. Obsession
continued, all was neglected, faster and faster they hauled. Food became
scarce, their hunger burned as they watched the last tree fall.

Oh, my god! What have we done? How come we never
knew? I must be asleep. This must be a dream.
There’s no way that this can be true. We
trusted those people, and thought
they knew best. And no
one disputed their
view. My family!
My kids! I can’t
let them die!
But what
am I going
to do?

Unsinkable

She
was the
most luxurious
ship that ever sailed,
a testament to man’s imagination.
Water-tight compartments, she could
not sink; appointments that met high expectations.
Fifty two thousand tons, built by the best of Belfast.
Her master, Captain, E. J. Smith, had experience deep and vast.

Sailed from Southampton, on April Tenth, Nineteen Twelve, AD. More
passengers boarded, at Cherbourg and Queenstown; then Titanic steamed out to sea.
On the eve of the fifteenth, she was making good time, on a moonless night, calm and cold. She’d arrive in New York, much sooner than thought, for the White Star Lines worth more than gold.

Just past eleven, the lookouts were perched, high above the deck. Iceberg warnings had come and gone; her speed hadn’t been held in check. Binoculars forgotten, just one of those things, as they tried hard to see in starlight. At eleven-forty, a dark mass ahead; they’d failed in
their duty that night.

The watch-crew tried to turn the ship, but her rudder was built much too
small. With twenty life boats stored on deck, too few by half for
all. Ice opened her keel, the North Atlantic poured in; Captain
Smith awakened from dreaming. Turned out, the pumps
could have held thru that night, if Ismay hadn’t ordered,
Resume Steaming!

Oh, my god! What have we done? How come we never
knew? I must be asleep. This must be a dream.
There’s no way that this can be true. We
trusted those people, and thought
they knew best. And no
one disputed their
view. My family!
My kids! I can’t
let them die!
But what
am I going
to do?

Inconceivable

A
way of
life inconceivable
to those from not long ago.
That it was all taken for granted,
made it seem doubly so. For thousands
of years, muscle and sweat was the currency
of power. Then something magical came along,
and all the old ways were scoured.

Those in the late industrial age, those of at least modest means,
could travel at thirty-thousand feet, and eat food from three thousand miles.
Clean fresh water on tap at every temp. from icy cold to hot; central heating and
air, and so much more, common in most domiciles. Travel was fast and comfortable,
but still thought of as a chore. The Green Revolution increased food supply by a
hundred-fold or more. Advances up and down the line in every part of their lives, added to their life spans as their living standards soared.

Few realized all this came from something buried deep below. Fossil fuels were ancient plants; Sun’s energy made them grow. Extracted and consumed by fire, this energy released; creating never-ending power, at least that’s how it seemed. Seventy-six cubic miles of oil, just about the total; when half was gone by two thousand five, loomed the ending to their dream.

Fossil fuels had enabled them to draw-down and deplete, the resources they relied upon for
all their basic needs. Using these resources, more quickly than they formed, meant each
day two hundred and five thousand more mouths to feed. Financial systems crumbled as energy supplies fell short. The climate grew much more severe, reducing earth’s
support. This gigantic house of cards was built because of closed eyes. The
ending when it finally came caught most of them by surprise.

Oh, my god! What have we done? How come we never
knew? I must be asleep. This must be a dream.
There’s no way that this can be true. We
trusted those people, and thought
they knew best. And no
one disputed their
view. My family!
My kids! I can’t
let them die!
But what
am I going
to do?

______________________

John Stassek used to help run his family’s small farm and feed businesses, until they failed in 2009. He is now semi-retired, driving a school bus part-time. He enjoys interacting with the kids and finds it’s much less stressful than farming. He is a member of the Lions Club and is also a member of Transition Van Buren-Allegan, trying to help create transition towns in southwestern Michigan. He keeps busy by working on his home to make it more energy efficient, gardening, and now, writing poetry. His librarian wife brought him a copy of Poetry for Dummies, two pages of which he read before composing this work. His long term plans are to finish reading the book. They have two happy and well adjusted children, and a fabulous new daughter-in-law, living on the West Coast in Seattle and Portland. He lives with his loving and patient wife, Debby, and their spoiled German Shepherd, Annie.