At dawn today, an absurd little insect scampered south on a vinyl floor made to look like French oak.
Way back when, the moon, like it always had, said wake up.
The full moon a hundred times reflected on a half rolled up Chevy El Camino window.
One true moon grinning full gray, blue and white.
Hundreds of mini moons giggling on the plane of glass below.
1985 I demand to know where did all those moons go?
Where did the ambitions evaporate to?
What came of their small little nudges?
The half moon above me now – the 2022 moon in the 33rd week of the year – says the nudges came here.
To this morning, to that bug on the floor earlier.
To lawns that need repairing.
To paperwork that needs attending.
To another batch of pretend busy-ness.
It can be passed up just like the petty ambitions of 1985.
And the ambitions will return here in full.
To the break of dawn and a small bird that demands to be heard.
Now where is that bug?
I’ll feed it to the bird.
Or – sacrilege and absurdity – I’ll stomp it into silence.
All the while, a half moon lurking above – witnessing nothing but its own chalky soil.
How many times has it spun around me since that old drippy El Camino window?