Directions:
With one we blink,
and only one.
With two,
we close the door.
The water flows into the tub,
it does,
we count four more.
I close my eyes,
and try to think–
the silence, screaming loud.
Four seconds pass,
my veins, they split–
I tremble,
falling down.
I count the years
I’ve been on Earth,
and what I learned in school.
The teacher told me once before,
it’s only 20
to the moon.
How, great,
I think–
emerged so deep,
in a crimson numbing pool.
At 17,
I count my last.
My age, and breath, and seconds past.
3 more to go,
and there I’ll be.
A spaceman.