A' Southern Moon Poem by James McLain

You start to smile under the full moon,
but then you start too cry, out back again.
You swing there, underneath it back and forth,
under the moons face, still it's full and crying.
Your face can never be as full as it is now.
Hidden in make up, it can never be made up
the way it once was, found, the way it now still is.
You cry out, wishing that you could find some help
and he would keep doing it, full the moon feels heavy.
Full the moon, you are tearing up again, numb.
You need just plain, old 'English' the leather
the kings 'English'.
Strapped.
You hear only twigs and branches in the dark.