by Tom Davy
The audience departs.
A discerning moon watches them,
Watch-checking coated herds
Emerge into the street, phones out
Like fireflies as they flutter about.
There’s a dusk around all of them,
Its tusks tucking night’s handiwork
Swiftly over chimneys. One of three
Compliments the lead, another agrees,
The third sneezes abruptly to the cold.
And suddenly the day’s old. Its happenings
Dead to time, the weddings and funerals
Of the hour disseminated to the cosmos
Like confetti at an afterparty. Social media
Rumbles about a newly elected president,
Sets the precedent for tomorrow, too:
New news, new rumblings, new tumble
Dried sheets for people wondering
How the last will be remembered,
How the last will settle into the past
As they all pass into the dusk.