An Evening Inside the Moon
We went back to my house,
our hands not holding
but lively nerves under our clothes
still slow groping the unseen.
The moon raced ahead of us
like a thirsty dog.
Mama wet her knickers earlier today
and she yelled at everyone
for she did not see it coming.
It made me think;
I pushed down the saturated images
with fresh quicksand.
When we latch-keyed in
the empty house begged us to come together,
it leached through dry walls
and made the Hummel figures
hide their cherubic faces.
The porch light danced
in the center of a moth fandango,
our ears were listening to the road,
our shadows acting out
before we could stop them.
Evening heat and coyote calls
trembled knees
as we
pledged and drank-in
that catcalling evening.
When they all showed up
I was laying on the bed
cocooned in an afterglow
that would not stop itching.
Mama bustled around the house
like a Nile queen
singing her ***** little songs
that only hoot owls heeded.
Dad sipped a late cold one
and remembered with a grunt
that tomorrow was still only Wednesday.
Sis flopped into an armchair
wishing she were dead or far, far away.
By then the moon had got so big
that I thought it might turn us all
into a story told
between old astronauts.
I yelled for less noise
but by then the house was silent.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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