Orbiting Venus Poem by Max Stark

Friday nights they orbited in a Nova or Galaxy,
light years from that heavenly body
they tried to scope out through the tinted glass.
Over and over, they thought they might have found her.
Her perfection in denim against neon
always cut through their banter like a laser,
triggering instant turmoil on board:
the gnashing of hands, group moaning,
the invocation of useless gods.
Still they pursued her, using primitive radio
and their best heat-seeking devices.
Their commander kept them on course,
though he too suffered and never learned her name.
Eventually the night thinned to plain old moon
and they retired to their private rooms
to dream of landing.