Night Of Abandoned Planets

Big-headed, crying babies
of previous
nights haunting
worlds
of ice--once romantic
vistas.

I sit in a plain white chair and wait
in my father’s pajamas.

Wait for the object of my future
to arrive, roly poly,

in its ill-fitting summer suit. Wait

for the snarling animal to sniff my limbs and lick them clean.

I am

A

small, murdered eye in a box. Clothes
pins worked around
my various openings.

Someone, of course, invented me. But their
tracks have been thus covered well. And

the identity of this scientist is so distant, it

isn’t even there.