The moon, crater

crammed, swims into view

through the gap

in my beige curtains

and looks down upon me

with once innocent surprise,

yet I know that the man

in the moon is judging me,

that silently throughout

my forty five years

he has done nothing but give me

silent treatment, never encourage

or console when I am afraid;

it is cold and aloof

and creates shadows of

that are unfulfilled and hollow.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016