#2,387 Mission Creep

mike bell poems poetry

Our telly was a veneer-laid box
of vents –
dials & switches –
it is
why I cry at happy endings –
My
moon landing a magnificence!
Slide-ruled sheets of calculated
combinations were my hard slip-
streams to results –
an astronaut
worked quick to land an Eagle –
We piled cut-out headlines –
but
they failed to capture man’s
flying above gods –
An aged Nazi
rocketed birds into white angels
as my family recited a war story –
V1 drop & V2 drop –
as America’s
Vietnam flights scuttled villages
& we watched Neil A skip on ash
so grey –
I was a space cadet
at ground level as Thunderbirds
flew
[because Kennedy said to] –
We looked up to see Americans
dream – & we sang with Neil D
& were blind as missiles armed