Expeditions

Expeditions

There are names for colors, the primary ones,

and the new ones formed

when the originals collide

and spark and spew

in all directions.

The sound of baseball cards,

clipped to bicycle spokes,

signals momentum;

but I cannot ride with the older boys –

the earth is flat

and ends at the end of our driveway.

~

Ideally, we would love to remain idealists.

Now that we can drive, we can tour the continent.

Then we will float with optimism

to foreign shores, and when we’re done with them,

they will toss us to sea like notes on paper

stuffed inside bottles; we will be seasoned

with exotic oils and spices, returning to change

our landscapes.

~

New vistas look vaguely familiar – everything

new is old again. Is that grandma’s

painting? Is she tired of it? Is she

tired?

It’s been so long… they’re selling toasters

at the retro store, “Laura Petrie” versions –

even the sales clerk looks black and white

…the job search is not going well;

college predicts growth in the travel sector.

~

Three men died on a launch pad;

an array of colors

as the module sparked.

Do the flags on the moon

decay?

They’re taking advance bookings for Mars.

When I was seven, I was an astronaut;

I would build plywood rockets designed to splash

down in municipal pools. I lacked thrust –

vinegar and baking soda couldn’t cut it.

~

She stares out the window.

Her green eyes, like supernovas,

intimidate the sun,

which hides behind a cloud.

We’ve altered course,

the original trade routes causing us to lose

time.

Climates change – so we’ll change with them.

The universe

is unfolding

...unexpected