Miss Moon

Julian Stannard

Sometimes I wake in the early hours
and worry about Miss Moon.
Letters for her are piling up in the hallway,
I think of her fingering Chicken Kiev
and abandoning the cheese cake.
I see her opening the wardrobe and thinking of a dress,
sex is not without a dose of stress.
What can a girl do with cloth so thin?
Sometimes Miss Moon runs naked from the bathroom
and sticks her head into a bag.

Sometimes I wake in the early hours
and worry about Miss Moon.
Letters for her are piling up in the hallway,
I think of her boiling a kidney
and dabbing her eyes with carpaccio.
I see her opening the wardrobe and looking for leather,
I think Miss Moon is rather clever.
What can a girl do with such a Weimar look?

Sometimes Miss Moon runs naked from the bathroom
and sticks her head into the freezer.
Sometimes I wake in the early hours
and worry about Miss Moon.
Letters for her are piling up in the hallway,
I think of her making a rabbit pie
and rubbing garlic across her tongue.
I see her opening the wardrobe and choosing a whip,
I think Miss Moon is rather hip.
What can a girl do with such libido?

Sometimes Miss Moon runs naked from the bathroom
and sticks her head into the sun.

Read more of Stannard's poems in issue Ambit 195!

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