The Stolen Moon

The night in Puerto Salmuera

had the color of a bad decision.

The rain hammered against my

office windows with the insistence

of a tax collector

... and the elegance of

an ogre falling down

a flight of stairs.

There was a cow on my desk.

A normal cow.

Well, almost normal.

It wore a wizard's hat.

And it was smoking.

Cows don’t smoke

The good ones don't

That doesn't answer

anything.

Most politicians

don't, either.