The Spot Poem by Mike Finley

Stars, ignore the crimes occurring
like catfights under the windows.

Sometimes we're ashamed
of what goes on in the alley,
the things we overturn
and track into the house.
If we were cats we'd know
when to move on.

The pastures of glass we pretend to forget
are always browsing at our heels.
The beauty of most men's universe
is a spot of oil on a rainy street.

Sun and moon, leave off
your pretentions.
If you were wise, I doubt
you would carve us our shadows.

All of us humans scratch at the screeen.
We want what is ours.
You look down, the moon looks down,
everyone looks down these days.

All of us claim what
we spot at our feet.


(1980)