Mare Insanitatus

A crazy crew of lunatics sailed to the moon in schooner ships.
They flitted over lunar seas and littered them with lunacies.
All pitched their schizophrenias, made jetsam of their manias,
and split their personalities, then ditched them like banalities.

Soon they felt an eerie presence - spooky to the very essence.
With one blue eye, luminescent, 'round a pupil, incandescent,
he stood like a beaky vulture, dressed in duds that reeked of culture.
Beneath his hat of kiwi fruit, he wore a pea-green leisure suit.

Like sharpened knife, he flashed his gaze, and from his eye shot dazzling rays.
He mesmerized those wary folk; he hypnotized them ere he spoke,
"You're not from here; just what are you?" And, minds unclear, they answered, "Who?"
So these were hoos, he wrongly guessed, and then he shooed them to his nest.

Deep below the crater Tychos, he boldly led the zany psychos,
to his retreat, beneath the ground, where they perceived tink-clinking sounds.
The begging, hungry beaks of chicks? Their fate to be cheep menu picks?
But, bright and hot, his eye lit up; they spied a pot and nine chipped cups.

His mate was there, 'bout eight-foot-three, and, gaily, she was making tea.
They eased a bit, the tension slacked; at least they hadn't been attacked.
Enjoying tea, their hostess kind, they couldn't see their host behind,
who honed his beak for easy cuts. He hoped to eat a meal of nuts

Beak filed, he leapt right at those hoos. He'd smile at death, fight not to lose.
He came at them, sharp beak slashing, but the madmen started laughing.
His razor jaws met naught but air; they played as if he was not there.
And then he grokked their source of mirth; they'd left their bodies stored on Earth.



Published on the web in The Martian Wave, Sept. 2002.

Winner of the independently judged 2002 James B. Baker award for poetry by Sam's Dot Publishing.

Copyright 2002 by John Bushore.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.