3:22 P.M.

Smiling broadly from the bottom step
from yellow-and-black command ship
my forty-two pound, thirty-seven inch
Neil Armstrong plops dustily down

Successful touchdown,
Tranquility base. Home,
The Eagle has landed.

Perfect timing; his silver-and-black
supply case is depleted, as is he.
Time to replenish, explore local terrain,
relax, recount the day’s adventure

Pausing, he then runs and embraces me
Mission accomplished. For today.

Mark Lucker

Freshness

cardboard Tupperware
crowds my attic
keeping my soul
preserved if not fresh

rows, stacks of
oddly square bowls
repositories of then;
lost loves, past successes
other leftovers

sometimes leftovers
trump a fresh lunch
filling rejuvenation found
amidst the smell
musty brown wood pulp

Mark Lucker