151/365: Wrinkling Lady In a Space Helmet

In those days,
we prognosticated the Future
through foreign bodies we had not yet held.
Americans looked to Nippon
like a post-war phoenix,
and Bladerunner borrowed from them
to create the Future's future vintage slums,
and tech companies named themselves Japanese names,
and we pretended it was the Future
like we were children in the 50s
flying rocket ships made out of appliance boxes.

Most telling of my age, perhaps,
is that I still want to be an astronaut,
a wrinkling lady in a space helmet
heading for the beyond,
as though anyone looks ahead
at the wonder of plastics
and footprints on the moon.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com