July, 1969
(copyright 2019)Michael S. Walker
There’s a man on the moon!
I shouted
And I ran outside to see if
Somehow
The moon had been altered
I was eight
And, of course
There were no signs
Of those shadows jumping around
Those doughty gymnasts
Coolly describing miracles
The moon tilted
Over the vacant lot
The lot where we sometimes played
Soldier in Vietnam
It gave back no extra light
Or wisdom
The fireflies collapsed on the lawn
The dogs still howled for their supper
And the flag stood intractable
In the no breeze
I stood there squinting at the moon
Wishing I was an astronaut
Wishing I was a telescope
Wishing there was something more
To this miracle
Then a million flickering TVs
Until I grew blind
And went back inside
To watch some more