secondhand moon

sometimes we take the road gill-less
& it just involves a lot of breath-holding.
i always wanted to be a fish but i never quite got there. 
my dad's old jeep used to be able
to drive through rivers. i miss the goodwill
off main street & how i used to be able
to see all my old dresses there waiting 
for lackluster rebirth. once, the moon drowned 
in the sky. i saw it. i tried to lift it out
with no luck. i was panicked. sometimes i am
the only one who realizes a tragedy is unfolding.
i don't waste time alerting the masses.
the news stations are just hubs of propaganda
(& not the good kind). we have to take language
into our own hands. 
i went to the thrift store & i found a replacement.
the moon is duller than before but
it gets the job done. the neighbors are jumping
their car & it sings like a fire alarm. 
i grew up next to a fire station. the trucks passed
at all hours of the night. sometimes they were
the size of toys & the fires ate them like
hoagies. i got used to the different ways
destruction can take place. i sort them
into three categories: capitalism, wild capitalism,
& on occasion, bad luck. i have good luck
bad luck. like, when i slip on the ice
i never die. like, when there is a rough bullet
it is never magic, only punctures a party balloon.
everyone i know is turning thirty. i guess i thought
so much more would have happened. 
i have never left the country. i have never made
another human out of clay & brought him to life.
i guess i have thrifted the moon. i dust it off.
she asks me on cloudy nights, "do you think 
they can tell it's not supposed to be me."
i explain to her that no one is ever paying attention.
that gives her comfort & me grief. 
i see one of my old dresses knocking on windows
as it sulks up & down the street. i try to chase her
but she just gets all car kill & i don't have
any napkins. i go home without her.