monsters quiet for once,
the tuning forks ringing alarms,
but most noticed little,
their intake of air
still viable,
their shouts subdued;
and for the others,
no breathing problems,
but, locally, air intake
seemed below par,
each one rising,
enclosed in plastic
for flight;
nearby, other workers
toyed with frigid
granules,
food stored ingeniously
beneath cockpits,
ready in an instant
to be dissolved;
but spaceflight remains
mysterious,
expensive, each bubble
of air priceless,
each numbing space-drug
pulsating through veins
for years, and explosive
forces speeding across
the vacuum that is.
Recovering from a nasty illness this week, this taxes me somewhat as, with your usual dexterity, you paint a canvas that is multi-layered and acute. Just goes to show that your work always commands concentration and attention to detail! It could just be about space travel, so the sense of weightlessness and vacuum matches my candy-cotton head at the moment precisely!! On the other hand, the first few lines make me think this also refers to some sort of disaster which I may not be aware of. You are a gifted writer, Larry, who always has me on my mettle waiting for many things to "leap out at me!". I'm probably jumping at shadows on this one... moonwalking at the very least, but nonetheless I always enjoy your finely-crafted and highly-tuned writes. TY Kate xx
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