a moth dive-bombs the porch light like that bike courier
\ndelivering a letter written in 1986 as clouds loom over the face of the moon
\ndew whispers as it falls, tasting of promises forgotten; it feels limp in my hand<\/p>\n
midnight feels like a mournful train horn in the distance
\nheard by Jack Robinson walking Seymour View Road, alone
\nat least I have a clear view of the moon<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
we kept chickens and chased the fluffy yellow babies
\nno retweets to worry about
\nbecause blue skies kept the snakes at bay<\/p>\n
strong food and strong drink at midnight
\nthe only advice my Aunt gave me
\nalcohol making better judges of character
\nthan the electors who studied law<\/p>\n
she\u2019s a babyblade
\nthat will take on the day\u2019s lonely job
\nof sharpening grass and bleaching clover
\nbecause cars can\u2019t go where the people don\u2019t wander<\/p>\n