Ante-I, Ante-I-Over
moon. our eyes follow you
as you bounce round the room.

(Jim claims house rules say we can’t look)
(at those)

(Jane says he made that all up…)

never too late for a latte
moon. and never too high to come down.

you may be stuffed but we can’t
get enough–so here’s to
another round.

Jane‘s all worked up that we’re seein you
moon. but we told her it’s quite alright.
I mean you’re up there all night…
wait a second…how do you know Jane again?

very last, not-quite-half peppermint
moon. in a pocket with peanut
shells, buttons and clues.

let’s speak in each others voices
moon. and read each others poems.
we’ll stay up all night, then hurry home
to grab the funny spoon.

you look like you’re half in the bag
moon. with the top of your bald
bleu cheese head stickin through.

this is the place we ask what did you do
moon? and this is the silent reply
time will tell…

and this is the moment of
just before truth… the
hickory dickory clock strikes
twelve…

let’s go for a walk in the park
moon. and not care if we don’t make it back
for roll call or spelling or study hall, or
nap time or recess or snacks…

as good a day ever for Spring
moon. as good a day ever—
and none too soon.

let’s get you served up with some hot sauce
moon. piñatas, noise makers and
party hats too.

cheshire grin in the sky
moon. you’re here and you’re
gone and you’re here
again.

(Jim says you look sweeeeet in 3D)
(Frank agrees…)

If the Moon Wrote an Ode to Your Nose:

…this is an ode to your nose.
and the way that it sniffles and
blows.

how it wrinkles and sneezes
and runs where it pleases
just to keep you at home with
a cold.

when not under the weather
there’s none that smells
better: toast burning. spits turning.
wood fire. a rose.

so many more uses than
one might suppose.

your nose.

gonna take us a bit of a nap
moon. we’ll clean this place up
after nap time is through.

Irish-today eyes are smilin
moon. (and our shoes-for-tonight
will be be dancin soon too.)

boxin things up
moon. for higher ground.
and we sure do appreciate
you stickin around.

means a lot.

gonna bait you and catch you and reel you in
moon. fillet, fry and serve you
at the Windbreak Saloon.

(of course Jim‘ll want chicken)
(he should try somethin different…)

you could skip rocks across this puddle
moon. but you won’t wanna step out
in your blue suede shoes.

gonna shuffle you up in my playlist
moon. and repeat you before you can end.
then burn you right onto a thousand CD’s
and give you to all of my friends.

this dance party’s all for your benefit
moon. (well you and the overnight
fire hall crew…)