Low Moon

composed by the shapes
of hotels & office parks
             framed by traffic
lights & lamp posts
sliced by telephone wires
             trails of F-16s
ballooning off the
blue-gray horizon
             squatting atop
gas stations tonight
it does not soar
             above the sandwich shops
exercise gyms or mini-marts
it swells out of the roadbed
             & we could drive from here
to the Sea of Tranquility
eat tacos at the Apollo 11 lander
             sit on immovable plastic seats
beside Armstrong's footprints
we could throw crumbs to the gulls
             play miniature golf
eat Häagen-Dazs
while strolling past rows
             of black mailboxes &
chain link fences along the craters
never rained on
            by an empty sky
never to rust
never to wash away.

David S. Briggs has worked in children's book publishing for more than a decade. A graduate of Drew University, he lives in New Jersey and finds inspiration from his long commutes into New York City.