The moon is hiding
It has vanished
Misplaced somewhere
Nowhere to be found
The Night is perplexed
Her dancing feet
Have lost their painted toes
Her frozen nose feels cold
The weatherman says
Up in the hills there is a chill
The newswoman reads
In the desert the wind blows dry
The Night limps on her dancing feet
Without their painted toes
Through streets lit bright
By plastic neon lights
She presses her frozen nose
Against brightly lit windows
Where plastic moons smile
And plastic stars glide
Dancing on perfectly formed feet
All their painted toes intact
Amongst fluffy upholstery
And splendidly polished bric-a-brac
Dwelling in perfect conjugal harmony
The Night shrinks back, retreats
Her eyes fall to the cracked footpath
Desperately searching
For her painted toes
Lost somewhere in the cracks
-by Rita Putatunda
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