Day Twenty-One: ‘First Kiss at Space Camp’

April 22, 2015

Our hero misses cheeseburgers and Camels.
The return voyage’s weeks longer than advertised,
but he knew that. Somewhere, in a deep crevice
inside his bloated suit, still beats a heart
that longs for petty human quarrels like traffic
and knocking a drink accidentally
and keeping sloppy marital finances,
the lot of which you can’t find among the stars.
As the board blinks and receivers echo
in his ear, he’s back in Alabama
consuming the black vastness of a night
where multitudes of stars blink fast and bright.
The girl, the sunburn, the flattened black hair
all swirl skyward now as his vessel, tumbling,
arranges itself in no particular manner,
the memory the heaviest item in
the antigravity orb. Spaceman, as a spaceboy,
crushed lips with blackhair behind the central hub
where mustaches slept, then knew he’d never breathe
her air again. So spaceboy left a message,
a hefty, breathy whisper — we won’t be long.
Indeed his craft descends. Two weeks to go.
Who really ever gets what he may want?


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