The Moon’s Gone

Smoke rings thick and grey,

sagging chin and rough elbows

resting on red plastic tables,

smelly armpits, watery eyes,

cheap whiskey and swear words

‘what the fuck is wrong with you,

be a man you mother fucker’,

right now we will chase the night,

bring it to the knees and rape it,

dance in the forest,

take our shirts off , piss on the grass,

smear our faces with the dust

and scream till our brains explode

bring on the dirty jokes…

‘one day a parrot goes to a strip joint’,

Now did you laugh or throw up,

Ok what’s next…

‘hey can someone sing a bloody song,

any song, anything’

let's shiver now

and hug limp bodies,

let's try to stop the nagging cold

and the blackness of sleep,

but don't lie down as yet

it’s not yet morning

and the damp forest floor awaits

with her mouth wide open