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.