The Seeing at Seahaven
On day ten-nine-oh-nine,
As Truman walks out to his car –
He’s nearly brained by a falling star.
Oh, don’t sweat, he’s fine.
Though isn’t it mysterious
That the star is named as Sirius ?
In his bubble life,
With its flat earth and crystal dome,
The sky is shining just like home.
His perfect town and perfect wife
Are just like us outside the show,
They’re just as true – not that he’d know.
So what constellations, then ?
They could be any patterns really,
He’ll accept them all sincerely.
But then they’d have to pen a brand new textbook,
For the sake of one –
Why fight what’s there, when said and done ?
They still don’t need to wheel –
Just string them to the roof with ropes.
And best to not stock telescopes.
The fake can still be real.
I just hope that he likes to gaze,
Or else they shine in vain these days.
Rhyming Couplets 