Stage Door Rocket Science

In the early evening, before I go on in Taunton,

I’m outside the stage door for a last gasp.

Two spires, one Norman, share the summer sky

With a pale frayed tissue wisp of cirrostratus

And the moon, chipped like the milky white glass marble

I kept separate for a whole week and then ruined

By using as a taw.

I have never been here before,

So where does this strong visual echo come from?

Concentrate. Smoke harder. And then I get it:

Cape Kennedy, the rocket park in the boondocks.

A Redstone and a Jupiter stuck up

Through clear blue air with a cloud scrap just like this one,

And the moon in the same phase.

The rockets, posing for the tourist’s gaze,

Were the small-time ancestors of Saturn V,

But so were these spires. It’s a longer story

Than the thirty years I just felt shrink to nothing.

Time to go in, get rigged with the lapel mike –

Its furry bobble like a soft black marble –

And feel the lectern shaking while I set

Course for the Sea of Shadows.

--Spectator, August 29, 2010