Sea of Crises

No garden then that concrete year

grey as Mare Crisum,

sun dappled island of cement -

stars my destination

moon in the gutter.

James Burke commentates

As Eagle leaves the safety

of a  kitchen orbit.

Three days circle the yard

silver plastic glinting,

module making unexpected

course corrections near

Mother of all asteroids.

Sheets battening in solar wind,

tracking the washing line,

over a landing site secured.

Countdown to burn,

finger and  thumb executing

last minute correction

as Armstrong flew dead stick

with computer off.

Hundred feet –  closing fast

like cheese.

Craters and dust.

Easy now

Almost

Brace

And

The Eagle Has Landed

Tranquility Base here.

Magnificent desolation.

Roll back on warm concrete

Admiring the achievement

tiny plastic LEM on

harsh lunar surface

Prepare for EVA

as a shadow falls -

One Giant Step

as the final shirt is pegged out

like a conquering flag,

crushing my dreams

of space exploration.

Houston, We have a problem.