Bourbon Moon

It's a bourbon moon tonight
a bruised auburn afterthought flickering bulb
swinging down a skyline of unrepentant desire
where every soul is a pawnshop wristwatch
tightly wound and deeply engraved by the years
and you are ageless, empty, and totally beloved
cruising old territory in a black Buick chariot
a stand-in gangster from a thousand b-movie affairs
pulled from the earthen well by the hands of dear Juliet
as she emerges like a bar trick from beneath the widow’s veil
the silken rescue of her famous blonde possibility
drawn about you like a scarf, then a noose,
then a scarf once again
It's a bourbon moon testimonial dinner
all pomp and circumspect chicken entree ambush
a wavering shadow at the podium in a rented tuxedo
the legendary raconteur now whipped until smooth
coming clean on a record of just-shy connection
that big steely bastard, the one that got away
a cursing indignity through stink inky swamp
your clean hook skimming sleek elusive flesh
thin smiling lips in a blood champagne wake
the punchline lost in laughter and small talk
while the band vamps blues behind you
and the paramedics rush in
It's a bourbon moon emergency landing
a horizontal joyride with flashing red lights
another tough town, tough room, tough crowd
but somehow you’re still the center of attention
wrapped like roast beef in a blue hospital johnny
your boots by the bed with the legs still attached
sipping down a slow drip double morphine stinger
a pink plastic bracelet on each unrecognizable wrist
and the night nurse lingers like a crime scene witness
and the thinning crowd cries out for one last number
so you knock ‘em dead with “My Way”
and the stage lights go down
It’s a bourbon moon reunion
a full dress rehearsal for the final last call
where resilient spirits of leisure and refinement
still hug the oiled mahogany for all they’re worth
and you hold court in a dizzying swirl of affection
taking in the ambrosia, otherworldly perfection
all low sloppy slacks and fuzzy black socks
hop-skirts hot with the wire and what-not
wild reeds, wild weeds, bottles of stout
rocking red jukeboxes of sound advice
dear Juliet’s laughter filling the air
a waning bourbon moon reflection
----

Home | Poetry