{Poem a day #3}
There he is! I told you! Mr. Moon hiding behind the cistern
in the bathroom all this time. That strong neo-Roman nose of his really sets of
his long stubbled chinny chin. I never would have thought he would be so
grouchy or so wrinkled. And I’m glad he isn’t wearing sunglasses, not that it
matters, I just would’ve been disappointed at McDonalds being so prophe-prophetic,
even with all the slaughter slaughter. But, digression aside, there he sits,
lies, stands, sleeps and sneers. Yes, yes, a sneer – it looks like life has
been tough on old Mr. Moon and his face is akin to that of a drunken history
teacher’s early morning, pre-shaven splendor. I wonder what he does in here
after the light turns off and business dies. Does he die and sink into the
milky moony abyss of my mind? Maybe he hardens like a firmed yellow cheese,
odour growing, growing, toing-and-froing amidst the cockroaches and party
rhythms. He definitely doesn’t
have a bright jump suit on, nor does he play the piano and drink Pepsi. He just
looks sad amongst the scorched violets and faded pinks of the yellowed,
peeling, imaginary wallpaper. Oh,
Moony, chill out man, lay off the linoleum.
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