Our son—space pilot

A Saran Wrap astronaut

Helmet made from sack

Houston, alien attack

Hard battle now fought

Creative that boy

Up here Ted’s the real McCoy

He makes what we need

Enabling to proceed

Our home of metal alloy

I watch the night sky

And wonder when you’ll drop by

Our son asks and prays

“Is Mom coming back today?”

Wish I could say “certainly”

Wish I knew as well

Ted’s tried everything to tell

Return ship’s a wreck

Need NASA to double-check

Good news—not yet in trouble

Ted sounds like my friend

Our son wrote a note to send

Draws you strong and tough

Wrestling aliens so rough

Abs of steel that never bend

Abs? More like a dream

Here food has a eerie gleam

Aliens I’d brave

To evacuate this cave

I’d become a viral meme

Your cooking we miss

Our son makes a sticky dish

Calls it “space waste”

Moon cheese mixed with peanut paste

With lemon, though just a twist

A delicious meal

Mystery food here for real

Could be science fare

Or a treat that glows, beware

Either way I’ve lost appeal

He saved you a place

Filled it with rockets and space

Dreams of you each night

Counting passing of moonlight

In his room he sees your face

I’m counting them too

Dreaming of both him and you

Please sing him our song

Tell him I won’t be too long

Distance fades in love’s view

Because you love me

Even with a fool’s degree

Moon girl hurry home

Above this vast earthly dome

You’re the star we need to see