The Man in the Moon - by Roger McGough
On the edge of the jumping-off place I stood
Below me, the lake
Beyond that, the dark wood
And above, a night-sky that roared.
I picked a space between two stars
Held out my arms, and soared.
* * *
The journey lasted not half a minute
There is a moon reflected in the lake
You will find me in it.
What I'd really like to do, is live on the moon. I can see people hindering this, and I can see them not hindering this, and I understand that they can play an active part in enabling it, but I can't make myself see it.
People are very anxious to tell you about how you have to choose between Earth and the moon. Not many, it appears, are looking for the lakes. This makes the notion of time spent with them depressing. They could at least pick the fucking moon.
Very probably, few people actually care what place you jump off and where you arrive. I could probably live a far more comfortable fantasist's life next to many people than I imagine. But to assume and expect people's indifference feels a little like missing the point.
So what is this so-called point? It is, I believe, twofold: 1) Roger McGough rocks. 2) His rocking deserves your recognition. It deserves a whole page in a book of poetry, and your undivided attention while reading it. I can't make people do this, though possibly I would if I could, but I think I can expect it - that is to say, seek it - as a general orientation. So there.