Maureen Seaton

         Summer Solstice

With that pink-ass moon in Sagittarius beaming obscenely

on the Flatirons, ruffling up infamy, you’d think citizens

would be howling to get out of their homes or booking

groupons to anywhere or philosophizing along a continuum

that might present itself for a stroll into euphoria. Or luck.

I don’t know. We’re supposed to stay the course, stay

embodied, check out our personal and collective delusions.

I walked my Chihuahua at dawn and a shirtless archer

appeared around a corner with a Great Dane at his side.

We all froze and looked at one another in a kind of rose-

tinted astonishment. Then the Chihuahua growled low,

the archer laughed, and the whole moon vanished in the sun.

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