Stegosaurus Moon

Scott Beal


I walk down the ramp that says No Pedestrians On Ramp
to my car parked under paint that spells No Parking
after signing the agreement that dissolves my life's
biggest agreement. Today I should stand in the face
of every blessed thing. But I transfer the car
to a sanctioned space, deploy my umbrella in the rain,
order mocha at the cafe because Thursday is mocha day.
“The quarter moon is a time to reflect on challenges,
actions, decisions,” says to my invitation
to tonight's moon circle on Evelyn Court.
When did I challenge anyone to a duel?
I plumb the sludge on the bottom of my cup.
I had envisioned an occasion:
a round table with fountain pens,
our two names flourishing across a final page,
then popping an Asti or tipping a forty
to toast the end. Instead I met an assistant
in a lobby and scribbled my mark on five copies
with a Mediation Institute promotional ballpoint.
There was no need to occupy the same room.
I would like to say a few words about a stegosaurus.
A stegosaurus is pretty big compared to a school bus.
Thick armored plates mean it has its own back.
If you've ever met a stegosaurus face to face
then you are now extinct. I wouldn't challenge
a dragonfly to a duel. If I had a confession
for the moon I couldn't look it in the face.
The moon rolls through the sky like a croupier's marble.
I think these pages spell out a life I can live. I know
what a stegosaurus looks like even if I've never seen one.