Bob McAfee

Moon Child – a Duplex

Mother with the yardman. Father gone to war. Bobby munching apples, rotten to the core.
Mother fills the suitcase, climbs aboard a train. Bobby in the bathroom, going down the drain.

Mother with her suitcase, riding on the train. Bobby getting desperate, going down the drain.	
Joanie riding shotgun. Bobby drives the car, all the way to Waycross. Things have gone too far.

Joanie riding shotgun. Bobby parks the car, way down south in Waycross, one stop past too far.
Talk about the loving, whispered in the ear. Words, the sweetest nothings, are everything to hear.

Tender is the loving, whispered in her ear. Words, the sweetest nothings, are everything, I swear.
Never trust a moon child. Always use a straw. Make the bed on Sunday. Rise above the law.

Never trust a moon child. Suck it with a straw. Go to church on Sunday. Stick it in your craw. 
Rip the silver linings. Swallow down the pain. Bobby’s on the highway, slouching in the rain.

Trip the silver linings. Wallow in the pain. Bobby’s off the highway, crouching in the rain.
Joanie leaves the party, all roads lead to Rome. Hops a bus to Brunswick, her only ticket home.

Joanie’s left the party, finally all alone. Bobby at the crossroads. Meat is off the bone.
Mother with the sandman. Father back from war. Bobby munching apples, rotten to the core.

Bob McAfee is a retired software consultant who lives with his wife near Boston.He has written eight books of poetry, mostly on Love, Aging, and the Natural World. For the last several years he has hosted a Wednesday night Zoom poetry workshop. Since 2019, he has had more than 60 poems selected by over twenty different publications. His website, www.bobmcafee.com, contains links to all his published poetry.