The Moon is not a Toy

by

Matthew Woodman  

Say it with me: the Moon is not a toy.

Assume the Moon is loaded at all times.

No, don’t assume.
 Assumptions destroy what 
there is to be seen at the scene of the crime.

The Moon may bite.
 The Moon may claw your eyes 
out of preemptive self-defense.
 Don’t grieve. 
Sight is not a right.
 The Moon may steal the signs. 
The Moon may replace your teeth with silver

and mercury.
 The Moon may slip your mind 
like an eel, like a downed power line.

The Moon is not a slender thread to wind

around your finger.
 It’s razor wire. 
Our chalk outlines wax and wane in tandem.

Keep your thoughts where I can see them.

 

 
<div align="left"><em><span style="color: #000000;">Matthew Woodman's poems have appeared in recent issues of Catamaran Literary Reader, Fourteen Hills, Cactus Heart, 300 Days of Sun, and Rawboned.</span> He teaches composition and literature at California State University, Bakersfield.</em></div>