For the poetry reading last night, I wore my Luccheses Dad gave me and my compression socks (rolled inside, of course.)
Along with the gravy poem and horse poem, I read this Harvest Moon poem. It was a great way to end the semester, though I confess, I won’t miss the class! Next semester is going to be even more crazy with 12 hours: Grant writing, Creative writing, and two core classes!
Under the Harvest Moon
Saturday night, the whole town was at the Harvest Moon Fest,
It was free, after all, and you couldn’t do better than that.
The City held it in the historic visitor’s center,
Really known as the Wal-Mart parking lot,
So you could stroll in and get some batteries, duct tape and a six-pack,
Before conquering the Moon Bounce and buying a hand-painted gun rack.
Well, my editor sent me to take photos,
And it’s amazing what the camera sees,
Like Darth Vader flirting with Nefertiti.
The Fire Department’s oogling the Park and Rec girls again,
The librarians are pitching a fit,
They all bought new khaki pants, but only the creepy balloon artist noticed.
Turn the corner and there’s the newlyweds making out,
A Kleenex Box, pregnant witch and six-foot pizza slice with a beer belly.
The psychic just told a little girl she was going to grow up and have seven children,
While being an astronaut, curing cancer and winning Miss America Christian.
Meanwhile the belly dancers have pulled out a slithery friend,
But the Baptists refuse to wiggle along,
All except Leroy who had a few too many at the Random Beer Garden Booth,
Looks like I just found my front-page shot.
Grandma Riley’s caused a ruckus in the face painting line,
Not even the Lutheran’s preacher’s mother can put Jesus on a 5-year-old’s cheek.
She’s hollering about blasphemy, the artists protest their creative rights,
They called for Sherriff Bill, but he’s Methodist and in the henna tattoo line.
The Celtic dancers are starting up.
Clogs don’t really work on grass, but they’re trying,
Which is more than you can say for the mentalist,
Pulling out magic post-it notes from his pockets that fool no one,
But hey, it’s all in fun.
Someone tugs on my dress,
And what do I see,
But three little princesses grinning up at me.
“Excuse me, ma’am, can you take our picture? We’d like to be in the paper.”
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