Bottle Rockets

I got a postcard once that said
Live your life like a disposable camera
strapped to a homemade bottle rocket
bound for the stars and slapped together
with duct tape and a hundred and fifty dollars.

I’d like to see a hundred grand get a view like that
Earth’s rounded curve the straightedge
By which to measure the universe
Larger-than-life
Breath-taking
Amazing!
And other billboard adjectives.

It changes you
a road trip with no itinerary
and a healthy dose of Discovery!
How far can a tank of gas take you
and which way do you turn at the International Space Station?
I hear the cell reception’s great out there.

Until the truck runs out of gas
the sparkler refuses to ignite
highway lines and mile marks
fading on the fuel station map
like the uncropped edges of amateur photography.

I’d send occasional postcards
with snapshots of the stratosphere
and Wish You Were Here
scrawled under the stamps of Greek astronomers.

You’d complain about the graininess
the jiggle of the camera upon reentry
sun flares and solar eclipses blotting the image
film blackening, low on juice, or atmosphere.

I’d leave nothing but moon-dusty footprints
Nothing to show for my travels
but saggy tires and lousy pictures
What’d you expect for a hundred and fifty dollars?