AMERICAN OR SWISS

Look up at the moon,

What do you see?

I see a dull, orange sun, the night before a humid day.

A slice of a rotted apple, crescent shaped,

maybe just the largest hole out of the billion

in the black sheet of space.



It's the end product

of a seemingly endless journey,

sitting up there humbly when Napoleon conquered Europe,

or when The Bomb exploded.

It has watched always - Now, it is closer than ever to us,

but as far away as a newborn's old age.



Centuries of near and far,

praise it as a god or a cluster of cheese.

Whatever the case, it provides food for day's end.



This night the clump of cheese is more yellow than white,

more American than Swiss.

It is not full, only slightly more rounded on one side than the other.

I forgot what that is called.



by Alfred J., New City, NY