There were no pictures in the papers, not
a single blurry one in black and white.
Nor did the waves go zinging through the night
to bring the news from that forsaken spot.
To tell the truth, most had forgot by then,
the ones who’d put their fierce lives on the line,
who‘d crossed the cold void sea darker than wine.
They’d heard the stars beckon; bright lures of men.
The last of them, no one would write his elegy,
stood there content, smiled through his plastic bubble
at one last alien eve, he’d drained his cup.
He only rued that no one ‘d see the prodigy;
They’d found her lying in the crimson rubble:
Fair Nike's marble statue busted up.