Sunday, May 6, 2012

Super Moon

I know its fat face, as round as my father's pancakes
bubbling with craters, open wounds

We all go a little nuts with it looming over
the rooftops working its ancient spells,

A woman knows such things when the tide
pulls her away from the shore

And men, we keep it deep down
until it loses its fullness

No one sees us shaving the ungodly hairs
that grew in the night