*a poem written jointly by:
Morgan Beal, age 10, site poetrypoem.com/morgans musings
and her mother, Lori Beal, site poetrypoem's "Musings by The Poet Loriet"
The moon shines
like her breasts
which are always dipped in
the kitchen sink.
Her hands wipe steam
from the kitchen window
as she gazes longingly
at the mozarella moon,
string cheese stars
that drip across the sky.
She is transported to another evening
where the moon mimicked this one,
another life a million miles away
where she gyrated her hips
to Calypso music on a Carribean
dance floor framed by bamboo torches--
fire dancing as wild as
her vagabond dreams.
She was younger then
with an obsolete mind,
not having to worry
about the mundane details
of everyday life.
Now, she is left with
an absolute mind,
the kind that never dreams,
that only thinks about
the price of Corn Flakes
at the local grocery store.
She snapped back to reality
when she heard the baby cry,
and towelled off the front
of her cotton dress
and pulled the drain.