Tin cans, strings attached
The boy across the median
The dirt under her fingernails
The spotted dog that followed her
Made her feel like the world was hers;
That the moon was in fact chasing her
Wherever she turned, it was above her
Pointing down at her with its silver glare.
She would run and hide then peek from behind
The gutters, the rocks, the parked cars, the dog house;
The moon, present, every night, from new, crescent, to full,
Until one day she realized, she was the one chasing The Moon.
When I was kid, the moon followed me.