Thursday, 16 March 2017

Conference with shiny moonface:

Above the crackle of the helmet’s two-way,
words, like sticks expertly flicked,
stripped away the vulnerable creases
of my protective suit; the atmosphere
suffocating - his purpose was clear.

Young astronauts on fledgling journeys
should never forget the stepping order;
the ladder, the dust, the gravity-reduced leaps
demand an order or consequence.

Others sat and listened, in visors,
like plastic travelling birds,
their occupied heads sagely nodded -
I am certain I heard them swallow
in sympathy and relief; the scraped goat
is preferred to personal flesh and blood
forced to bear the brunt.

I knew
even as the silence fell
swifter than an eclipse
the journey home
would be long and awkward –
its sails spread like an angel’s wings,
a rocket can soar upon the solar waves
and still encompass hell.

No comments:

Post a Comment