Impeach The Moon
They were out to press charges
As soon as it appeared,
Waxing its way thru the turbulent airwaves.
But the Moon had no substance,
And was always changing:
They wanted to nip its growth in the bud,
Before it became all things to all men.
They accused it of stealing their sunlight,
Accused it of anything they could devise:
The tides were too low, or too high;
There were too many loonies out on the street;
Too many cars parked on Lovers’ Lane.
Any rumor was good enough
For the Special Prosecutor.
He pointed his finger at the Moon
And screamed, “High Crimes and Misdemeanors!”
There was hardly time enough
For them to put their case together.
They had to find or make up something
That would blind the billion eyes
That watched its phases with such wonder.
Yes, they needed a conviction,
Before the cursed thing slipped away
And disappeared beyond Reasonable Doubt—
And they would have to start all over again,
Investigating their revenge
In the unimpeachable dark of the Moon.