Moon Shot

by Bill Noble
(05/02/01)

The Grand Canyon of the Colorado River.
For boatman Bert Loper (1869-1949), whether he wants it or not.

Warm night. Tickly breeze.
Big old lady moon sailin’ along the sky.
Hard-on big enough to legislate for a National Monument,
so what’s a man to do?

Throw back the blanket roll.
Brace them legs out good and wide.
Clench ‘em. Stretch. Let that desert air
sweet talk ever’ little hair on your body.

Rub your belly. Stretch again.
Curl your toes so that little hundred-volt shudder
starts in your shins, wooshes up your butt,
and pulls your back right up in a bow.

It’s you and that moon, feller.
Private enterprise and a strong right hand’s
what built this nation. Grab it. Aim it.
Makes a feller proud.

Thought you’d think about women, didn’t ya?
Rowin’ instead--belly muscles, back and legs.
Ride that wave. And that one.
Powell that boat right down that river. Give ‘er Hell.

Hard-on standin’ in the moonlight.
Your big old paw a-flyin’ up and down.
Squeeze your head and stroke your sack.
Glory Lordy--here comes Lava Falls.

Moon shot’s what you call it.
Right up out of the bowels of you,
Scatterin’ stars all over the high heavens,
then tremblin’ and gentlin’ down like a homesick dove.

And in the mornin’, sunshine and the risin’ heat,
Just hove yourself headfirst into that river,
break the surface, toss your hair,
and sing a verse of song for that sweet and faithful moon.

©2001 by Bill Noble

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