“We pull off
to a road shack
in Massachusetts
to watch men walk
on the moon….”
“Because the men
are walking on the moon
which is now irrefutably
not green, not cheese,
not a shiny dime floating
in a cold blue, the way
I’d thought,
the road shack people
don’t notice we are a black
family not from there,
the way it mostly goes.”
“This talking through static,
bounces in space-
boots, tethered
to cords is much
stranger, stranger
even than we are.”
Cited from Elizabeth Alexander, “Apollo” from Poetry (April 1992).
Visit Poetry Out Loud page, here, to read this poem in its entirety.
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