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Mister Moon

by Kevin T. McEneaney
Mon Jan 1st, 2018

That man’s a silly fellow in the sky

who only comes to me when he’s drunk.

He can never answer the question why,

or honestly tell just what he’s thunk;

he glares at me so impersonally

that I think he’s either profound or dumb….

 

His distant far air of formality

contains no music, not even a hum

of disagreement, something I prefer

to stimulate modest conversation

about the universe of conjecture,

which often concludes with drear dejection.

 

Yet I raise my wee glass to Mister Moon,

hoping that I might see him once more soon.