MOON GIVER

Jake wanted to drop his pants to his ankles and flash a vulgar proctologic grin at the world as it ambled by his second story apartment window, but he remembered there was an emergency in the great state of things. The street in front had all the usual objects that met his sight line every morning, a drug store with a striped pole hanging next to the entrance, a tractor -pull fan club headquarters, an empty lot enclosed by a cyclone fence which appeared to have been crashed into several times over several decades, with bent steel poles and snarky chaos of metal fence mesh bent and twisted like so much barbed spaghetti, a dead oak tree with wood plaques nailed into the dry, lifeless trunk that bore pasted magazine photos of the Dalai Lama smiling at a window full of chattering teeth. 

This was the usual array he witnessed after he finished scratching himself and drinking his third cup of coffee, but lately it was quiet, indifferent to his gaze, the street was empty because of the emergency in the great state of things. Everyone either stayed home or had been raptured , but there were no piles of abandoned clothes or crashed cars or airplanes falling from the sky, so he deduced that most of the citizens were home looking for an angry fix on the internet and had not gone to heaven or whatever engulfing void awaited all of us after the wind stopped lifting the wings we might have to live a day longer. 

Jake sighed and felt said because he really wanted to give the moon to the world that past his second story apartment, a studio above a jazz metal record shop that was a source of many obnoxious riffs and guitar smashing gang fights . Even they were silent. Jake thought he could hear the moronic drone of the electricity coursing through the transponders on the powerlines,those metal containers that made him think of crucified trash cans. He drank his coffee as he scanned the cityscape. Clouds hung on horizon as the sun rose over the skyline,