Brush their teeth each morning,
comb their thinning hair
then read the paper over breakfast,
practiced at ignoring the twinge
when they read a two-paragraph article
about the guys out there,
young men and women
dusting cobwebs off last century's dreams,
that twinge that comes to old folks
who would rather be doing
than reading.

Are endlessly tolerant
of questions, interviews,
of all the strangers, who, even now,
decades later,
see only those handful of days
breathing stars.
    
Never complain
when the questions
turn back to Armstrong and Aldrin -
those who go first
leave the deepest mark.
    
Stand in their backyard
after midnight, house lights off
but the show still going on
up there,
stand out in the cold
wondering if Hercules
ever yearned
for a thirteenth Labor.

(First published in Star*Line)

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