This poem is called No Moon.
I was afraid this would happen
The way the night looks with no moon,
The way the wind whistles off the back porch.
You want to love me.
How can I tell you I have a life,
But I don’t have a life?
What can I tell you?
Shall I tell you about the bars that don’t speak,
Or the razor wire that longs to sever the throat,
Or the cold winds that bounce off the emptiness?
Shall I tell you about the trees two hundred yards away
Across the river of electric wire?
How the trees haunt me,
Like the smell of barbecue,
Like the scent of mountain metals,
Like the sight of crimson painted toes across the river.
Across the hills, there’s wine that belongs to no one.
What shall I tell you?
Should I tell you about all the lovely women I never had?
Should I tell you about the moon fading away
Like a piece of hard, round candy?
I was afraid this would happen
The way the night fills with no moon,
The way the wind whistles off the back porch
Pushing on the screen door,
Like 10 cats, like 10 mad men fighting.
These commentaries are recorded by Noel Hanrahan of Prison Radio.
