It is the beginning of a mild spring evening.

I am running down the stairs,
quickly and excitedly,
with my neighbours following me.

We all want to see Mercury.
It just fell down in the front yard.

There it is,
lying on the ground,
crushing the mail boxes it landed on.

It looks forlorn and lost,
like a teacher’s pet
deprived of attention,
no longer first
in Sun’s affections.
A haste of errand boys,

dispatches in their hands,
pedal furiously round it,
trying to impress their patron
with their speed and efficiency.

I approach with eager anticipation,
hoping it has brought the message
I have been waiting for
my entire life.

It squirms,
seemingly embarrassed
by its incompetence,
ashamed of its failure.

I recall clearly the sensations
of a bitter blow,
of my dreams crashing down to earth,
and expressions of feigned sympathy
on the faces of my neighbours.