Nothing At All

Phosphorescent star shapes
Beam their cookie-cutter beams
Of pale green outer space
Against a ceiling.

I stare,
And I wait.

I might be waiting for

One to jump
Real rocket flare
For a sad wish.

I might be waiting for
The tape to give,
Letting one loose,
Ninja-star neon
In my left eyeball.

I might be waiting
For nothing at all.

I might just be looking

At an 11-year-old’s starry night
Of plastic space shapes
And nothing at all.