Mission to Mars: Day 254

by Thomas D. Reynolds

For a week now,
he’s lain in his bunk,
or drifted in his cabin.
Eyes stare blankly
into endless expanse
beyond his portal.
In the mirror
obscured by his breath,
he studies an alien planet.
Above the mirror,
his weapon remains
vulnerable to attack.

Now his hand floats
before his face
like a lost ship.
Powerless and adrift,
it moves in a silent arc
through space.
One by one,
its officers have perished
in slow asphyxiation.
Only the captain lives,
crouched beneath his bunk
when the aliens board.

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