Last night I threw two
Eggs at a pregnant moon,
The first I had noticed in months,
Knowing no finger could
Point it out, the most qualified,
Well-intentioned of moon-guides
Certain to lead me astray:
This way—no that! Can’t you
See where I gesture? But
No, I’m sorry, I cannot,
The only way I’ll see the moon
Is when I’m able;
Here’s a like on YouTube.
Hercules, shooting his arrow
At the sun, was rewarded
With a cauldron that
Bobbed him to Erytheia.
Rewarded, for his audacity!
Do you want to know
How far the eggs made it?
Not far. Certainly not to the moon.
One went up, then down.
The second went up, then down.
The arc of two eggs,
Concluded. What will I
Receive for my bravery?
Bleak business, perhaps,
This throwing of eggs.
My cats, however, happily
Ate the albumen, lapping
Smeared yolk from the lawn,
Noses sniffing the darkness,
Their upturned eyes overflowing
With momentary moonlight.