July Moon Poem by Alistair Graham

I

The first sip of a fine Rioja
Sumptuous nose, tantalising tongue
liquid art in my hand

Half a bottle now
Half way between the past
and the future

My hand has been resting on the glass
for an age
Bloody sore, the skin marked

The whole bottle now, a blonde beer
I’m carried along the conveyor belt
to the destination

The moon is watching
It is now upon me
A swollen camembert globe

oozing a smothering liquid blanket
enveloping my panic-face,
advising how I should go

II

At the front of the house
the Cordyline Palm
filters the street light to me

Again, the moon comes

A white-hot disc now
stihl-sawing the top of my skull
to create a lid

A skullcap canopy
shading the nonsense from the sun
while the orchestra plays, despite the heat

A hand painted wooden sign,
thrust into my shoulder,
inviting the lunatics

I arrive