Below us, earth was getting smaller, swallowed all up by
Black space nothing. “Let us go then, you and I baby!”
When the stars are stretched out across the sky
Like the end of the world etherized upon a table.
Through the window of the blaring rocket we pointed
It all out to each other – the expanding universe still
Forming in dust and perpetual motion, rock, gas,
And everything ever after they could ever think up.
“Look at tha- hang on, your hair’s different.” “Yes.”
“It’s nice.” “Thanks, I had it done specially.”
“For the moon trip?” “Yes.” “What’s this rocket made of?”
“Bits.” “Bits?” “Bits and things. Things I found.”
It seemed unlikely, but we landed the right way up
And then made our way onto the surface of the moon via
A foot stool which we had packed for just such a use.
We sat and ate biscuits we had baked in the heat of the engine.
“I call them moon biscuits,” and we bit in
Sending crumbs out into the atmosphere
Freshly baked space debris.
“Can I take some to work tomorrow?” “Ok.”
We burn back through the atmosphere, burn so bright
In our homemade junkshop craft machine that you
Would never believe in gravity if you saw us
Would never believe in people being stuck on the ground.
Because tomorrow we will back at work
Moving again beneath the sky, and
In the morning we lie locked together
And human voices wake us, and we yawn.