Don't you just hate it when
the moon hangs
in the sky accusingly

staring you down in an eternal
contest to decide who will blink
first, a game you can't ever win

as if world hunger and world
peace were your responsibility
as if it weren't your right
to waste your life in this city of sterile
abundance, doing your best

to fill the air with diesel fumes
and onion-scented halitosis
and smoke from yet another
(ho-hum) fireworks display--

and the noise, always noise
squealing tires and funny "mufflers"
screaming kids and wailing parents

lucky lovers oblivious to it all
cranky old men banging the ceiling
with broomsticks because the music
is too damn loud--

All this because the moon won't blink