Now we wait.
After leaping onto the stage
In a blaze of pixelated glory, whooping,
Shouting out “Hello Earth!”,
Sending the comet-starved crowd wild,
Superstar ISON has gone all shy now,
Retreating behind the Sun,
Shielded from our impatient eyes
By its bright, golden glare.
Like a moody screen queen teen it refuses
To follow its schedule.
Dragging its heels, sighing, sulking,
Skulking beneath its predicted brightness curve,
Heading for a peak far below what it led us
To believe it would achieve
When it first strode out of the dry ice
And stood in the spotlight,
Burning brighter than it had a right to be,
Beaming “Look at me! Look at me!”
So now we wait,
With fingers crossed, and hopes still high
That the coming winter’s morning skies
Will be painted with a tail the likes
Of which no-one alive has ever seen.
But what will be, will be…
© Stuart Atkinson 2013