God’s gone – gate barred and bolted,
clanged shut, riding his own vapour trail
of rocket fragments
out of the fireball
into a frozen sky.
‘Uh-oh; what the (expletive)’s that?
We’re riding free!’
Applause! Applause!
See! The pyrotechnics are superb!
‘Fancy our daughter being in the capsule
that produced so bright and shining a display!’
And all by day,
outsunning the sun
and melting the sky of iridial blue!
1986
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