Another Launch
By: John Grey

More thrusters
exploding in the night,
more red–orange clouds
busting the air open
with their farewells
to another silver cylinder
as it streaks into the sky.

The rocket's barely a momentary glint
if you're watching but more,
so much more,
if you happen to be
lying in your bed,
unwilling to sleep,
listening and imagining
yourself in the captain's chair,
your crew around you
waiting on your next command,
the heavens opening up,
the stars glowing eager for an audience
with a commander of such standing.

The launching pad's not far
from where you live.
But that's just the science.
The adventure is in your head,
melding old comic books
into real life explosions
and earth shuddering.
The astronauts may just be
linking up with a space station
that's orbiting the earth,
but your orders are to roam the galaxy,
seek out unexplored worlds,
make contact, war even,
with alien races,
fight off strange creatures,
witness wondrous marvels
unlike anything on Earth.

No more launches.
It's curfew now.
But that doesn't apply
to your room.

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