Moonwords in a month of spreading occupations
As the tired sun crawls beyond
the world’s crumbling rim
seeking its troubled nightly bed,
Luna glows ever bolder in relief,
her eyes imperious,
her nose an arrow pointing
signaling Nature’s nightly news.
I can almost hear Luna’s fearful whisper to those
“Go left, like my nose!
Be Earth-life’s last desperate dice-toss!
Go left! lest I glow lonely,
a lifeless Luna with no more history or evolution
to watch below
to while away my endless future years.”
I among them—
beneath a tower
as wealth’s latest power symbol,
a tower where my workplace burned,
my workplace fell . . .
where war years birthed.
Up Broadway we drum and we march.
Youth learning struggle
merge with workers embattled, workers remembering anew.
We march this day, we crowd this park
and we build a new kind of unity,
everyone’s anger mixed with joy and with caring,
with thoughts about power
now taking root amidst this long-trampled grass.