the omelette moon ...
i read your poem again today
the poem you sent to me some time ago
and i read how you watched the moon
fall from the sky
and crack like an egg
when it hit the mountain tops
i read how the lunar yolk
spilled over the farthest reaches
of the valley
and turned the world
a sickly yellow
and i read how
you imagined the summer's heat
puffed the whole thing up
and made a giant omelette
i must admit
i was surprised
and if i chuckled
at so strange a turn
i'm sorry
i did not mean to imply
that the thought was
a bit mad
and even if it was
i should have been less
critical
but when you added
that the angry skies
poured down red rain
like ketchup
i could only hope
you wouldn't add
a knife and fork
and then you did
the poem you sent to me some time ago
and i read how you watched the moon
fall from the sky
and crack like an egg
when it hit the mountain tops
i read how the lunar yolk
spilled over the farthest reaches
of the valley
and turned the world
a sickly yellow
and i read how
you imagined the summer's heat
puffed the whole thing up
and made a giant omelette
i must admit
i was surprised
and if i chuckled
at so strange a turn
i'm sorry
i did not mean to imply
that the thought was
a bit mad
and even if it was
i should have been less
critical
but when you added
that the angry skies
poured down red rain
like ketchup
i could only hope
you wouldn't add
a knife and fork
and then you did
