[Martin Elster]

Gazing Up

Walking out of the chain store, beginning his stroll
down the road to his house, underneath the sky’s bowl,
he looks up and sees points that are smaller than peas:
Jupiter rising above the dark trees;

Venus en route to the western skyline
leashed to the sun like a docile canine;
and higher, bright Cygnus (the beautiful swan),
and the Summer Triangle. Yet others are gone,

for the streetlights obliterate much of the view
of the cosmic expanse above Fern Avenue.
He can’t see the faint band of the great Milky Way,
can’t descry constellations too subtle, no ray

of light from those heavenly bodies will make it
to his eyes. A strange thought floats around. He can’t shake it:
As blind as the foxes and bats to the heavens,
man hunts not for the stars, but for 7-Elevens.