Zachary Berndt
Poetry Editor
I’m like the Moon in a job interview. I tell them,
“I like to make waves and not ten dollars an hour.
I’m a little more distant every time you look.
I have deep dark eyes where the rocks were thrown.
Don’t probe them, there’s only dust there.
Half of me is constantly in the dark
and the other half is burning.
Sometimes I blot out the sun.”
“Thanks,” they say, “we’ll call you,”
but the moon doesn’t have a phone number.