by Ray McKenzie  

The night is still young.
One last call for alcohol.
Lights come up. We leave.

Walking through the lot.
Still night air. Roger Waters-
Dark Side of the Moon.

Stop. Lock eyes. Street light.
Bona fide Kodak moment.
Catch our deaths from cold.

In her mom’s Volvo,
white rain beads on the windows,
forming small shadows.

Black stars crawl across
her face like so many leaves
scattered by the wind.

Tension between two
bodies; dare I reach across
the center console?

Try to speak around
the frog in my throat. Dumb joke:
ribbit for her pleasure.

Orbit out of whack.
Bodies align. Overhead:
supermoon eclipse

****

Ray McKenzie’s poetry has appeared in Mannequin Haus. He tweets @TheImmortalDrab and works as a teacher aide.