by Ruth S. Baker
“The moon is 85 million years younger than previously thought”
With how loud steps, O Moon, thou scuff’st the skies!
How moodily, with what a scowling face!
Thy music drowns the tuneful spheres of space;
Thou seem’st to live on helium and fries.
Indeed the scientists now recognize
Their faulty maths, and from thy score erase
85 million years; there’s still no case
For surliness. ‘Tis late! Thou hast to rise!
I do not wish to spy, believe thou me,
Into thy love life—nor do I admit
Thou art a “crater face.” No, verily,
’Tis just a phase. Thou wilt grow out of it.
But if thou wouldst be paid to luminesce,
Pray do not leave thine orbit such a mess.