V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics





I spare him the usual musings
of tides and gravitational pull,

of cream cheese and craters, the Man up there—
as I carry my son to our spot
on the lawn, its fluorescence
hovering above us, returning
our gaze through stately Georgia pines.

Generations ago, boys of the Fifties
dreamed of fiery journeys beyond
the invisible boundary of sky,
but these days we surf to China
with a mouse click, nonchalantly
scan our satellite channels, awaken
to shuttle debris over Nacogdoches, the luster
increasingly dulled, the mystery less alluring,
like the movie version of a novel
you've already read twice.  Instead,

as we point into the darkenening
backdrop of another February dusk,
our focus is geometric: circle,
semicircle, simply "moon-shaped"
for waning and waxing crescent,
and for New Moon, to soothe his confusion,
I tell him even celestial bodies need sleep.

Often its monocle glides above us
on the highway, night or day, as if attached
to the bumper by infinite string.  Clench it tightly
in your fist, I encourage.  Hold in high regard
what watches over us, that steadfast
companion in a fickle, turning world.

© by Kirk M. Wright


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