A not-particularly-poetic dialogue for Miz Q
Nice out. I’m going for a walk.
The rain stopped at midnight. The stars
were a garden
in a pasture of cloud.
There’s a half moon now–what’s the moon?
A deviled egg? Meringue pie? Flattened soccer ball?
It’s the moon. The waning moon, to be precise.
And it’s partly sunny. Fifty-three the weather app says.
The pressure is twenty-nine point seventy-six,
and rising. Seven thirty-seven A M. 737: that’s funny:
that’s a plane.
Just depressed. I still know fact from fantasy. Unlike
Don’t go there.
I should protest. Kill myself.
Walk with me. It’s nice. Buy you a bear claw.
Like sugar’s a cure.