Playing Us
A moon tonight red as a hammered thumb
a clown’s impossible nose
held in place with an obvious string
Another night’s moon yellow as a fall squash
bulbous and crotchety
wearing the season like an old coat
Yet another’s moon orange as a neon sign
over a used car lot or over casino parking
Park it here, it says
your loss is my gain
we’ll pretend you might have won
since every move is chancy
pretend you don’t know I always do
aside from a few showy losses
We know the moon’s playing us
its history ours at an angle
every face a pose
it holds, barely moving for hours
like a nude model for a dozen painters
all amateurs scratching and pawing
at large sketchpads working to get
a presentable fake of that curve, that smirk
a dozen histories vaguely similar
the instructor walks behind them
watching as differences between their sketches
erase each other, thinking;
the Real has so many faces
none real but this lack of one
that vanishes when we no longer expect it
A student at the end of a row of easels
sits with folded arms
in front of of a charcoal sketch of an empty chair
The Dog Star 
2 Responses to “Playing Us”
the moon’s history is ours at an angle!
their sketches erasing each other!
ahh….
Thanks, Craig! Glad you liked it.