 |
| Mockery It was one of those nights when the moon hangs big and low. So close, you want to touch it with it's pale halo glowing. But the man-in-the-moon's face, it did mock me, taunted me, like a bird mocks a cat behind a window because it knows what it is that haunts me for endless tommorrows and sows the seeds of my endless sorrows. It was colder than I care to remember, Even more than usual for the month of November. The only thing keeping me warm was a half full bottle of Rotgut. A smokey smell lingers in my clothes and on my fingers from a fire that went out long ago. As I howled at the night in the pale yellow light with the cars driving past, I was wearing a splash, and I shook my fist in vain. And the Moon continued to laugh, cowardly, out of my grasp. Ooh, I'd knock it down if only I could. Threw my bottle at the moon like that would do any good. What a waste of good whiskey, it turned out to be. I'm Just a broken down man with the man in the moon laughing at me. -Rob Kamen 2005 |