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After ‘Star Maker’ by Remedios Varo The moon whines in his highchair, gurgling and garbling. Momma says, “Stay light for mama,” as she itches her eyes rosy. She rubs his back, rousing the gas from a resting place. Those soft bubbles fly high, tied up with pollution. Momma pays the man a pressed penny from the museum. Baby needs sustenance, needs a strong diet of doubt. The moon grows large and all his friends have abandoned him. Momma is ashamed of her little glutton, gobbling every word. She had hoped he would lose the dead weight, but failure came to stay.