Counter Intelligence

A kick-ass moon mojoed in front of the
black-panther night punching out the stars.
Double scowls and a bad map lead with a
history book of disparate “truths” following
and limiting our dynamic duo. 
The captain drafts continuous shades of
old props he believes are his thumb in the dam,
as Robin trampolines in any direction always
hoping for new and improved while waiting
on a discontinued bus. 
They no longer play twister, however their sparkling
Coup deVille declares all is Beverly Hills.
What about the fledglings you ask?
Their antenna are on high alert, yet that doesn’t
stop their fallout shelter from turning into an
elevator shaft.
It’s checkers 24-7 but always lose-lose because
banks are closed and the horizon in on another planet.
Enough said.

—Trevor Huskey, Wauwatosa, WI