when the trucks steal the sun
from over the bridge
they'll come with their trailers
and haul the sun away
to a dark place
there, scientists
will strap the sun to a chair
and demand the secrets of the world
unsatisfied with the pure silence of white light,
the head scientist
will light a stick of dynamite
and invent radioactive fireworks
and I will stand here on the boardwalk
looking up at an empty sky
trying to fill the dark void in my eyes
asking of the other stars
oh where, oh where
did my pretty little sun go?
