Today's poem is by Rebecca Wadlinger

Later, People Took On Qualities That Planets Usually Have

Eventually everyone had moons: chunks of the earth
swaying like tetherballs around their bodies. Every day
new ones would swing out to join the rest. Most were
small & pale gray like well-sucked gumballs. Women
would turn in front of mirrors to admire themselves
in profile.

One evening a nervous waiter leaned over the table & a
moon sent wine cascading into an old lady's lap. She
jumped up & a pearly one hurtled toward his cheek.
Soon people discovered when they got too close, they
would knock moons & send each other's spiraling out
of orbit. An especially eager lover cleared his moons with
one flailing arm & screamed Hah! I'm not even
sorry I did that!

Moons were bouncing off shoes, rolling down gutters,
& people were losing them & losing them until only
the lonely had moons. They slumped over, orbs
circling them like vultures, & wept.

Copyright © 2006 Rebecca Wadlinger All rights reserved
from Pebble Lake Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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