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.


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