Pancake Chews Off Moon Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

We're just back
from pitch night's
movies, our
stomachs growling

and rumbling
for food, any light
dish no heavier
than the moon

still creeping in
from an arc,
as it bounces
into a drifting round
circle curving

out its cream-pearl
dough into
the full disc
of a an alabaster

microwave-baked
pancake breathing
in a dusk sky,
as it wears and tucks in

a light brown coat
over a white nylon
undergarment
swelling into a ball

in feathers, the smooth
curve of a swan,
the bird to waddle
us through
settled dew on grass,

as we ride, galloping
on snail-paced times
along a bumpy, rocky

night still breaking into
the powder of dawn.

(ii)

Dawn, speed up
our slow ride,
as we await
the fluffy disc
of a pancake,

and a round glass
of moon sailing over
our wooden
garden bench,

our mouths flooded
with lakes and rivers
of water to drown
the gleaming

pancake floating
in a crystal
tray, as knives
and forks slice out
the light brown disc
into portions

to take us down
an alley of light,
as we nibble off

and chew a pancake
from a crystal tray,
and sky's moon dwindles
with our thinning

pancake into a feathery
patch, a half-bodied
moon leading us
back to our beds,

as moon melts off into
drizzles of light,
our gulped-down pancake
having devoured
a full bouncing moon.