 |
| Ken Christison photo |
An unpopular president
Has ordered us to the moon
We've been there before
We were so young
Home from a shift in the mill
Rushing to change before class
A bride at the table
A child in her crib
When we looked too closely
We found no reason to stay
The moon abides
Waxing crescent adrift
Over the simmering hills
Still holding the key to madness
Still controlling the tides
That lap the shores everywhere
Still guarding the lovers who kiss
Under no banner but the sky
I say leave it alone for awhile
If only we could.
–– built on a "found poem" from a NYRB review by James Gleick and
with lines by E. B. White printed in The New Yorker, July 26, 1969.
with lines by E. B. White printed in The New Yorker, July 26, 1969.
