Clean and clear the indigo sky
wherein rides a pink moon as soft
as autumn, as calm as centre
as centred as earth, as tethered as love
as silent as this suburb
now that the children sleep.
Saturday night, but no revellers drink away
their inhibitions, or fall into the arms of a stranger.
No rapists, no prey, no police cars, no sirens.
No wicked witches, no trolls under the bridge.
No fat men eating money, no avaricious politicians.
Just the homely quietness
of a suburb in lockdown
under a pink moon
in an indigo sky.