with apologies to Sylvia Plath
hovering above
the traffic
ever-present
all seeing
watching us
our humanity
our frailty
waiting
patiently
great globular
bowls of light
floating above
the street
disciplined
precisely in
line
lunar craft
billions of
them
quietly
strategising overhead
extra-terrestrial
saucers
camouflaged in apparent
tranquillity
feigning peace
and co-existence
benignly
illuminate our safe suburbs
bide their time
await the
appointed hour
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