not

moon poem

November 5, 2006, four thirty pm

Driving home from Lowell

On Route 495

The full moon is my playmate.

First, its smiling face appears at the horizon

Pale pink, a Necco wafer pasted on a pale blue sky

Barely different

My car’s compass tells me whether I’m headed N or NW and even NS

The Moon glides behind oak covered hills,

Burnt orange, deep red, maroon and gold bands or

Clouds among the purple of the naked branches of indiscernible species.

It slides out from behind feather tipped hills of  black naked branches.

It partially hides behind the hills of pine to pop up

As I change direction, it is at my side

Too far to the right to safely watch

As it morphs from pink to baby soft yellow, more white

Once, I’m driving NW for a short time,

His smiling face is on my left,

Thrilling me, a flirtatious face of an impish, new love.

As I take the Exit to Route 101

Nearing my destination,

The moon glides effortlessly along

Now above the horizon.

Is it really a stone object miles away.

And I sadly realize that

I am not his only playmate

Hundreds of other bright glaring lights in pairs, red lights, trying to keep me focused on the road ahead.

Many others too are being toyed with.

He is not my faithful watchful friend accompanying me as I turn onto New Road

Where the darkness has distorted the oak, the pine, the naked maples.

 He’s behind the trees, still now,. I am home.

   

not sure what direction NS is ???? typo? humor? maybe should be NE..

This is the first draft.