Artworks

If only you were the Moon

The plastic lamp, a junkshop find
Quite often had me in a bind,
And I’d resisted several offers
To cap eight quid and swell my coffers,
But lucky for the moth, I didn’t
And to its bulb, the creature bidden
Had mistaken this, a mere room,
For the firmament and the moon.
And lucky too, for moth, the glass
Was soon to save its furry ass,
For once encased in smooth vitrine,
With cardboard sandwiched inbetween
We cast it out into the night
And watched its spiralling moon-bound flight.