Inside the Moon
The moon raced ahead of us,
like a thirsty dog.
Mama wet her knickers earlier that day,
she yelled at everyone,
for she didn't see it coming.
Later, we teenagers latch-keyed in,
the empty house begged us to come together,
passion leached through porous walls,
brazen desires made Hummel figures,
hide their faces.
The porch light danced,
in the center of a moth fandango,
our ears were listening to the road,
our shadows acting out,
turning to flesh
before we could stop them.
We were both inside the moon now.
Coyote calls trembled our young knees,
as we pledged to be forever this drunk
on each other.
When parents showed up
I was laying on the bed
cocooned in an afterglow,
and ‘my girl’ had slipped away,
yet we were both tied,
to the center of a magical moon.
Mama bustled around the house
like a Nile queen
singing her queer little songs
that only hoot owls heeded.
Dad sipped a late cold one,
and remembered, with a grunt,
that tomorrow was still only Wednesday.
By then the moon had got so big
that I thought it might turn us all
into a fictional story,
one told between ageing astronauts.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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