It was not
so far out of reach,
the moon.
The one moon.
The only moon.
The night sky
white thumbprint against a carbonblack sky,
& everytime she looked back the moon seemed
to shift sideways, as though to inch around behind her
to the other side.
She smiled.
Smudgeprint moon, you old trickster.
You devil, you can't fool me.
Then she went back to working
under the steering column of the car.
&when the car roared into life,
she slammed the door, gunned the engine, and
went screaming into the night
chasing after that moon.
MR
2015-0928
Since the Academy of American Poets always has their poets describe their poems, I will describe this one:
"This poem is about our dreams, those things we long for, that which seems out of reach but is always within reach, depending on our imagination. It speaks to the depths of our souls, and how our longing can drive us to reach for the unreachable.
"Oh, who am I kidding! It's a poem about a chick car thief!!"
No comments:
Post a Comment