Far, Far Away

 

Lisa was in space, firing lasers at aliens

And by ‘in space’ I mean, ‘in the back street’

And by ‘aliens’ I mean, 

‘The side wall of an abandoned garage’

And by ‘firing lasers’ I mean, 

‘Throwing a tennis ball

And catching it on the rebound 

Because she had no friends’.

And by ‘Lisa’ I mean, ‘Me.

When I was ten.’

And by ‘No friends’ I mean, well,

There was Richard Cooper 

With his hair that went the wrong way

And his wonky NHS glasses

But this was Saturday morning and he

Was more of an afternoon friend

And anyway he had noticeably cooled on the relationship

Since he’d figured out I was only hanging about with him

To play on his ZX Spectrum.

But I was, you know, in space. 

Conceptually.

‘Maybe’, I would think, as the furry little green ball

Smacked off the pebble dash flat of the garage,

‘Maybe this is the dream,

And I actually am a space adventurer

For real

In space

Dreaming about how nice it would be

To have no cares

To have the vast blue expanse of Saturday to expore

Instead of the dead black chasm of space.

To be ten again

In a world before iPhones

And streaming

And Playstations

And whatever galactic calamity caused me to be

In space shooting lasers at aliens.’

Clang. Thwap. 

I catch the ball.

The morning sun in my eyes

Whoosh. Zap. 

Energy spirals around me 

And metal explodes as I twist through

The star speckled void

Massive starships shimmer against the moon

Whirr. Thunk. 

The printer flares with light

And paper judders through

As I stare at patterns of rain

Wandering down the office window

It’s quiet on the back street

And empty in a way I’ll never know again

Emptier than space

Warm sun on my face