The Moon and a Hanging Basket

I used to think the moon
was small and low,
as its chalky suggestion loomed
but inches
above the chains of my mum’s hanging basket.

I remember being told
that a few brave men had walked
on its surface,
Americans,
but I wasn’t that easy to impress.

After all, I could almost reach
the coiled bottom
of the basket,
and I was only little.