What if Neil tripped down those famed steps One small st- And collapsed in a heap of vacuum-resistant debris Cracked glass and aspiration Shame-sweat beading on his brow And the presidentβs hands hit his horseshoe forehead and he frowned like the big man he was And the mayor pounded his fist against the mahogany recently polished by the secretary And the wrists of socialite women hit their foreheads and they gasped and crumpled on to couches white with scrubbings And the children thought he was ducking-and-covering, just like Ms. Merryweather said And the Haight-Ashbury hoodlums didnβt notice because the needle was already sunk in like incisors And the traitors giggled ****-you's in their colonies festering like mold?