There are bad children
on the moon. Stuck there,

where their parents sent them
for picking at their ears,

refusing to wash their hands
and eating paste before lunch.

They have bloody ears on the moon,
scab-covered hands and mouths stopped up

and crusted over. Their eyes
are the eyes of too late too late.

Little footprints spell out
"Sorry" in the fine moon powder,

too small to even be seen
from the telescopes on the great big planet below

—telescopes not even pointed up
what with all the cocktail parties going on.

© 2005 by Christopher Citro. All rights reserved.