Punching the Moon

There are delving days when the ink blue sea whispers to me
in a sexy voice, "Come over here boy, and give me a kiss."

"Hell no girl! I am not easy like that! Anyway, I have
too much to do."

I want to get cashy and swagger with America,
drunk with England on cool draft lager,
dine with France on her clean white linens with shining silver,
then turn to Italy, her eyes of tawny pools, and say,
"You and I are going dancing with Brazil.
We'll splash across the Atlantic and
samba all night!"

Some days I feel like punching the moon out of sight,
swatting down the stars,
pouring the oceans down the drain,
and switching off the sun.

There are nights when the skies thunder with revelry and streak
with disco lightening and the rain drinks champagne
and mother nature, with her thousand Arabic pleasures,
sways over to me slow thighed...

But before I explode across this page-

I've got to finish the laundry- I've got a ton of it to do.



Tony Walton

 http://bostonpoetry.wordpress.com/?s=tony+walton