Poet Flunky
I’d tell you about the smoldering disk creeping over the horizon.
But I slept in today.
And even if I hadn’t, come on. No one describes a sunrise like that.
 
I’d describe the sunset.
The golden hour.
The dust of the day red with leftover light.
But you’ve seen sunsets.
 
I’d sketch midnight.
The glittering starscape quiet all for me.
But I live in a city
And it was cloudy last night, anyway.
 
Come back tomorrow. I’ll think of something. 
Margaret Libby
Published in Issue 40