Being Neil Armstrong
You imagine it sometimes happened unexpectedly;
he’d be out walking, or in some Earthbound vehicle,
and his apparently random trajectory would bring
a moon into view, just like that, framed like a
backlit well between two buildings, or in a hole
bitten out by time’s lazy doodle on a mountainside.
But then other times perhaps he’d wait deliberately for
one to rise, parking up the car or resting in a silent chair,
always facing eastward at just the right moment;
he’d have that uncanny knack you couldn’t explain
of knowing when it was lurking just out of sight, yet
about to breach the slowly turning curve of the horizon.
You just couldn’t know, could you, what it might be like?
To be him? Knowing how it all looks from up there,
remembering. Waiting for Sting to come on the radio,
when you’re driving home all alone, singing about how
“Giant steps are what you take…” and screaming out
at the dashboard, or into the utter emptiness above us.
first published in Bunbury Magazine, issue 13, 2016