the final frontier

if it doesn't rain,
and it's not too
windy and there
aren't too many
birds in the sky,
today will be
the final voyage
of our one and only
space craft.
no more space
shuttle, what will
we do now? how
will we fend off
those martians
in their sleek
disc like ships
sailing at light
speeds in and out
of our galaxy
like birds
through the trees.
but the shuttle
is limping
out, like grandma
waiting for the rain
to stop before
she can go to
the store to get
a can of tuna,
circling the earth,
barely above
the outer rim of air,
coughing and losing
shingles, round
and round she goes,
looking for a soft
place to land
her ample tush.