Atomic Might, Atomic Heartache

An age of limitless energy, the double helix molded like clay beneath our fingertips, and the stars beneath our boots. If you look at the TV, newly in color, they'll say that everyone's got everything they could ever need from the comfort of their own home. Just ring up you're local department store and they'll have it delivered by end of week.   But ask the tank-born soldier, who has half of their genetic code under patent.   Ask the wage scraper, who just was roughed up before being thrown to the curb for nothing else but wearing a color her boss didn't like that day.   Ask the under-city denizens who can do nothing but lay in their own filth, looking up at the ceiling and seeing the lights of the Cradles flying high above in the night sky between the cracks.   Ask the miner at the edge of the solar system, there because his grandfather earned a demerit decades before he was born for stopping to work to try and keep a man from decompressing in a vacuum, and who's approaching the age that his father, grandfather, and great grandfather all died at without ever having seen the outside of the mine.   Is this what what we have built? Is this it?