Bashful Moon

she walks beneath the glowering clouds
the sky looks down with a questioning brow
a whispering wind ripples the writhing trees
with a restless hand; leaves twist and turn
the bashful moon hides in the sleeve
of tangled limbs spreading searching fingers
tipped with new born buds which have just begun to form
seeking the breathless breath of the coming storm

when the first drops spill
a shiver ripples and quivers through the satin petals
and in the heavens the unruly Gods dance
with mad abandon; the earth - prostrate
lies askance in acquiescent surrender
as the lightning slits and stings with a jabbing bite
the telephone lines tremble on poles
that tap-dance on tapering toes
the street snakes into the gloom
its skin slithering slick grey
tremulous in the treacherous squall
a solitary car slides cocooned in its hissing spray
the streetlights spatter in the hazy foam
a sudden razor slash rips through the thick clouds
revealing the bashful moon - plastered pale pliant peeled
excruciatingly exposed
she spurts and bleeds and sputters and spits
trips and tips over the brink
and drops with a clumsy flop into the muddy slush
the street winds on - brazenly bare, hardly aware
it glides it slips it drips it sinuously slides out of sight

she walks in the dying wind
she slides she slips she drips she hides she glides
out of sight - into the whimpering night

-by Rita Putatunda