James Walton #127 The speed of light, suburban Voyager

and my heart is banging about

an unbalanced washing machine

on floorboards gone soft

I slow for the next few hundred

past the pre-fab house

with Babylon vegetable beds

where the pink purple magenta white

lemon red callistemons shower

a spectrum of singing bees

and I start again for another cycle

the elderly couple younger than me

argue over the asparagus bed

but I’m flying, some kids track me

bmxs rearing over gutters

we joke Usain’s lost his bolt

around the corner out of sight

panting like a dog in the sun

hands on knees sucking air

and my spacesuit rip enough propulsion

curving with the new trajectory

a lifeline hand over hand drawing in

slowing    as   re   entry   tolls   retro

eight kilometres becoming four

three    two    one    a Whiter Shade of Pale

the street wide as a new planet landing

not a thing emitting from the letter box