Apollo🔭

 
At last it’s here, I knew it’d come when Man
Is able to “mine” water from Moon rocks.
Across bleak tundra in the strike field north
Akin to squeezing blood from turnip greens.

But is this anything we all should cheer.
I roll my eyes and think that’s all we need;
The ghosts of Forty-Niners rising up,
To hitch their covered wagons to a star.

But worst of all, Sea of Tranquility,
Converted into condominiums.
With special rates for senior citizens,
And fuel-up mini-marts with cola slush.

Across the flatlands sprawling on for miles,
With blacktop parking lots absorbing heat.
Range rovers, and saucers from out-o-town
Displaying fuzzy dice, galactic flags.

Eventually, a stagnant ring of trash,
Will, over time, be following the Moon.
As keeping a straight face the one we know,
Green cheese will mold & be like sweaty feet.

It’s near the condos where there’ll be a park
And dedicated to Apollo’s flight.
In honor when the journey first began,
And ended once the auction gavel fell.