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The Moon is a Harsh Mistress |
Is a virus self-aware? Nyet. How about oyster? I doubt it. A cat? Almost certainly. —Robert Heinlein
She is a full milk carton with no new listings
children gone missing—her beloved
felines having faded into a chill
predawn on tiny fog feet.
The moon doesn’t scour the streets trilling her child’s name
flood the streets with flyers
call the neighbors
offer a reward for a return.
No.
She waxes laconic remits muted light
sparkling into shadows beams sent
under upturned lawn furniture radiates
through the thick thick ivy
broods. Where is her little lost one?
copyright 2008
Laura
LeHew |
