Prosaic

by Truedson J.S.

There hath passed away a glory from the earth.
—William Wordsworth

walking down 8th
I can’t help but notice
people on their porches
with sunglasses firmly
situated on sweaty noses
some doubled up, others
masked again with cardboard
slits staring downwards
at those stars
that are shaded
by the earth
only from her sun’s
lonely rays. Because
only the little kids are
brave enough to
look naked-eyed
at the beauty mark
we call Venus as she
transits for the last time
in any of our lifetimes
that enormous Elysian
field of UV radiation.
But I am no longer
a child I think as I
stop in front of the old
Campus Plaza anyway
& contemplate the
mundane crowd
that stares & stares &
stares everyone looking
up at the sky as if a planet
& a star weren’t all the
most normal things
in the universe.