Maybe four times a year
Bob saw the full moon
Floating above his cell window.
Days were full of sweat and swearing
night-- fatigue, his smelly wool blanket
Bob loved the faithful stars
but when he saw the moon, he fought to follow it
standing on the broken chair
soaking it in
'til it was gone.
He remembered a full moon night,
not the night he and Charlie took the horses
This other night was a fancy dance
in his aunt's town, in Twin,
his cousin Edna's first dance
His, too, though
no one said a word about that.
Her dance card was pink with yellow roses:
hanging from a golden cord,
the tiniest maroon pencil
skinnier than a twig.
The handsome young blades of Twin
signed their ame on Edna's card
with that tiny pencil.
He didn't dance, nor sign.
He dreamed he had that pencil
pinched tight, writing small
on the white moon,
his circular bit of shining paper.
If she looked up in Wendell
maybe she'd see the words
he wrote in Boise:
So sorry I drank with C. and stole horses
Yr loving son,
(The poem won first place in the adult division-- you should see my T shirt and mug!)