The Not so Petit Prince

Or Don’t Panic. Just take me to your leader

“Hi, my name is Peter, aged twenty three,

I have a terrible fear of growing up”, says he.

“Not very different to other millennial men,”

I laugh, “you should fit right here then.”

He flirts. “I am all paid up on a nice asteroid,

Right off Hyde Park, just into the Oort Cloud.

And, if you’d like, we can live there comfortably,

In the asteroid, just the three of us, honey.”

“Three of us?” I echo. (not quite a witty repartee)

“You, me and my robot valet, Jeeves, ‘Tis three.”

“Does this asteroid have three volcanoes?”, I enquire,

“Yes!” he says, “Have you been to this land of extinguished fire?”

“No. But it does seem you have come a long way,

From pining after a rose to having robots”, I say.

“Well yes. I did make a few billion rupees, *

From this book I call the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”

My mind works in ways that are too mysterious even for me to fully comprehend. So, if anyone asked you what you’d get if you combined the works of Antoine de Saint Exupery, J M Barrie, P G Wodehouse and Douglas Adams in a hodge podge of Futurama meets a romantic comedy, the answer is this poem. Just so you know.

* Clearly, the Prince knew I was Indian

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