Moonbase

Point this machine at the sky,
And it would make rain a thousand miles away,
Smashing the clouds with magnets,
Bringing water and flowers to the desert.

But to me here, it’s a spacecraft,
They’ve strapped me in,
Loaded me like a battery,
Sliding me into place, my head fixed,
My blood thick with gadolinium.

They point me at the surface,
Facing the moonbase through mirrors,
Making me captain with the periscope,
Taking in their stylish manoeuvres,
A movie of orbital control.

The misty Lieutenant talks me in,
Stepping through the airlock,
Surrounded by the sound,
Of light-speed craft colliding.

Starting with alarms, it builds,
To deeper, factory noises,
The making of the arks in space,
The hammering of new starships,
Sweeping hydrogen from near-vacuum.

I’ve heard some people sleep in here,
Half-an-hour to not remember,
What irregularity brought them in,
Relaxed through the noise of space,
But they are distilling madness.

I feel the contrast-agent in me,
Making me numb and electric,
Making me twitch and jump,
Dumb at the thought of poison.

Like Virgil, I slide out on servos,
Lowered to touch Earth again,
And stand pale and shivering,
Waiting for quarantine,
To wave from the silver Airstream,
Taking calls from The president.