[wpaudio url=”/audio/september12/Armstrong.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]
I saw the Moon today at early afternoon.
It was a cloud-like curve, hidden from all
but seekers. The sky was summertime blue,
and a police helicopter drowned out the sound
of gentle jazz in my car, but raised my eyes
to the sky.
At night the Moon was a breast, illuminated like
a cream neon in Soho. But with my naked eyes
I could see a cancer on it, a shadow from an impact
too long ago to comprehend? I stared at the Moon so long
it actually subtly moved in my window, then it was gone.
I asked myself, with all that light is it hot?
Then I thought, nonsense, Armstrong probably