“The Eagle has landed,”
the old man says,
his voice moon gravel,
his step as if lead
is lining the shoes
he drags on the floor.
Slowly he inches
away from the door,
and clutches his cane
like substitute bone,
slumps on a stool
and opens his tome:
“Twelve Steps”—
the first just to
start leaving home,
and presence of mind
to shave his white stubble.
One step for coffee
in place of a bottle.
One to acknowledge that
he lumbers slow,
and struggles to leave
the self that he knows.
One step away from
grief after stroke,
and life with his family
vanished like smoke
in space. A step closer
to taking his last—
the ultimate reckoning:
time moves too fast.
In total, twelve steps for
surviving mankind,
forsaking the planet of
past in his mind.
“The Eagle has landed,” and
“One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
Neil Armstrong, first man on the moon, 1969.
