The moon has been in a fight tonight

And the bruise spreads across the sky;

Yellow and purple. I think maybe

The mountain is broken.

We’ll need to get that fixed

And hope it sets.

You are leaning on the fender

Skirtucked and leatherbooted

Foot tapping to the sounds

Of Sam Cooke singing  

The sounds of dignity

In the face of oppression.

The whiskey bottle

Catches the headlights

Occasionally

And your face;

Your face.

And until tonight

I stood firm on the fact

That there is nothing better

Than a truly beautiful sky.