Rocket Man

He can’t afford the stellar prices of a unit in 

the city so must reside in a satellite.

His Ford spaceship rocketing him back and 

forward along a trajectory as black as a 

hole, certain that the cost to his flesh of all that 

time spent in stasis will one day have to be 

paid. If his goal was simple efficiency he would 

eat, sleep and work in the same room and he 

knows he doesn’t want to be a hermit. He 

feels alone when spending all that 

time solitary at the helm. Solitude is not a 

problem to him, but he can admit to himself that 

loneliness is. He wonders how many other 

planetary travellers are alone at their helms, in 

their satellites, eating microwave dinners, 

with the TV on but not watched, or music 

playing to assuage a burnt soul (but all the music 

in the universe is not enough to bring 

healing). And people whisper their envy of his 

far away dwelling place, and his fine rocket ship. His 

spacesuit, the only thing protecting him against the 

harsh realities of his environment, is cause for 

speculation and lust. And he doesn’t know how to 

relate to someone’s misperceptions of who he is 

and why he lives how he does.

He is in a stationary orbit, slowly spinning around 

a large mass of people who don’t know 

he is there.

MDC 23/10/2020