A Trip to the Moon

Silence beats down on my eardrums.

Colour-sapped characters fluttering like butterflies.

A frenzy of men robed with authority plotting

a plan etched in chalk on blackboard.

A tube rising like a skyscraper toward the stars

packaged with a bullet — filled with men.

Smoke billows from a freshly lit fire, rising to the skies.

The man on the moon, blinded by the bullet

that wedged itself in his eye.

I guess the moon is made of cheese,

cheese that oozes from the wound of a bullet.

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