Home Despot

i thought looking for animal shapes
in the clouds was only for children,
until i woke from my customary nap
to find Joseph Stalin's mustache,
drifting across the checkered night sky.

There was no mistaking it as Chaplin's,
or Ulysses S. Grant. It was his all right,
floating above the treeline, as if hoping
to collect the rest of the missing freatures
and assemble the great face back together
before the red sunrise.