Who says the Moon’s a sphere? I don’t
I swear it’s flat as flat can be
Reach out and grasp that cosmic coin
And give it one big flip for me

Or might it be a paper disc?
Let’s roll it up to great applause
And tow it back to Earth to make
A zillion Moon-brand drinking straws

Or if the Moon’s a pancake, then
we’ll carve it into handy shapes
And send in ships with lemon juice
for interplanetary crepes

It tells the month but not the time
Pathetic plane of dusty rock
Let’s carve out giant numerals
And fix on hands―a sky-bound clock

The Moon is flat, I’m sure! But if
you think I might have got it wrong
Let’s hit it with a comet and
see if it quivers like a gong


© Oliver Wright

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