I’m No Astronomer

I’m No Astronomer

I don’t know if this is scientifically accurate,
but the whole thing bugs me along these lines.
Today I couldn’t remember where I parked at Ala Moana,
yet every planet, every star in the universe,
knows exactly where it’s supposed to go, never missteps,
never wanders off a course that’s a zillion miles long.
It’s like living under a sky full of elephants.

But as I say, I’m no astronomer.
Maybe planets and stars do confusedly wander around,
bump into each other, scratch their heads
over misremembered directions,
have to consult Google Maps,
lose their car keys,
forget why they went to the kitchen.
Me and Mars don’t have clean underwear
because we forgot to do laundry.
Polaris ran out of gas on the freeway.
The Big Dipper and I
have to guess what to buy
when we go grocery shopping,
because we forgot our lists at home.
The Andromeda Galaxy can’t recall
if it unplugged the iron,
so it has to go back to check,
excusing its way through
the crowd jammed up behind it.

I may not be an astronomer,
but I do know who stands a better chance
of screwing up on a daily basis.
If the universe were as human as I,
that Big Bang moment would have been
both the beginning and the end.

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