Monday, January 11, 2016


Beside the road the moon lay
Almost dead. Sim wanted to leave it
Saying we'd troubles enough already
But Marley shook his head. The corporal
Took the moon's feet and I took a grip
On the shoulders. We put it near the fire,
Gave it some of our terrible soup
Made from weeds and nameless animals.
It woke up addled, with no recall
Of anything before us. It spoke slowly
And expressed doubt that it was the moon.
It was able to speak good Latin,
Or recite pi to several dozen places.
It could also read palms and tell true fortunes
But it held a spoon by the wrong end
And would not lace the boots we gave it.
After a few weeks, just when we’d got used to it,
It climbed a tree one night then kept on climbing.
When we could barely see it, a pair of boots
Fell from the sky, missing Sim by inches.

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