Spill

The moon hung from the sky tonight. Upside down. Someone must have tipped it over like a glass of red wine. It wasn’t stained though. Not the way wine stains clothes and carpets and books. I felt guilty when I stained those books. I would guess that my face turned as red as the wine. But I couldn’t say so. I laughed instead.

I did not knock over the moon. I did not knock over the moon. I did not knock over the moon. I did knock over the wine and I am sorry.