IMPEACH THE MOON

  

They were out to press charges

As soon as it appeared,

Waxing its way thru the turbulent airwaves.

 

But the Moon had no substance,

And was always changing:

They wanted to nip its growth in the bud,

Before it became all things to all men.

 

They accused it of stealing their sunlight,

Accused it of anything they could devise:

The tides were too low, or too high;

There were too many loonies out on the street;

Too many cars parked on Lovers’ Lane.

 

Any rumor was good enough

For the Special Prosecutor.

He pointed his finger at the Moon

And screamed, “High Crimes and Misdemeanors!”

 

There was hardly time enough

For them to put their case together.

They had to find or make up something

That would blind the billion eyes

That watched its phases with such wonder.

 

Yes, they needed a conviction,

Before the cursed thing slipped away

And disappeared beyond Reasonable Doubt—

And they would have to start all over again,

Investigating their revenge

In the unimpeachable dark of the Moon.