Super Blood Moon

"Blood"
Such hyperbole
"Blush" more accurate
"Mocha-latte" better
Or keeping the visceral theme
"Scab"

Even "dingy-brown"
Does not diminish the magic
Nor that I'm sitting
4:30 am
At a city bus stop
Under a plastic canopy
Hidden from the sulfur-colored street lights

Occasionally, a car speeds by
Even more rare
An upward craning neck
Behind a windshield

The shanty single-story buildings and I
Don't mind
We, the audience to the theater of the sky
Keeping each other company
While a plastic cup rolls in the breeze
Sounding sporadic commentary

Watching the mock time-lapse
Of a waning lunar phase
But unlike the usual stark paper cutout
Stapled
To the ceiling of the night
Curvature
Volume
Appears in the softer shadow

Perhaps it is this visible
Weight
That inspires gravity in thought
Newspapers publish the best timing and
Locations for viewing
Alongside prophecies of
Tetrads, impending doom, torture and retribution
Malignant mysticism and existential threats

Perhaps it's indicative of the
Human psyche
That assigns evil to the irregular--
Why not the the lunar eclipse as a symbolic clot
That stops symbolic hemorrhages
Heals symbolic wounds?
A harbinger of reconciliation
Restitution
Rebirth?

But what do I know of second comings?
Sitting in the shadow
In a city on the edge of a desert
At the epicenter of someone else's
Armageddon

As the moon sets and
Sun rises
I walk home and go to bed
Confident that the world will continue
As usual
For yet another day