Moonlight Mistaken for Safety
Behind the Chinese restaurant,
the moon is reflected in
a puddle of greasy water.
It is the perfect moon for me—
this reflection of a reflection.
It lights the down-turned
face of the busboy grabbing a quick smoke
before he is called back to
clear the tables in the banquet room.
The noisy wedding party has gone.
The too high bride and
the slightly drunk groom
slid out the side door and into
an old white limo.
Moths flitter in the harsh orange glow
of the sodium vapor lamps
at either end of the alley.
Behind the dumpster,
in a dark spot, a cat
crouches. Waiting.
Published in The Laundry Line, 22 October, 2025.
