Joris Soeding

Home in Nine Moons

~for Blake & Victoria~

we’re driving to the moon tonight
on just over ¼ tank and Britney Spears on KISS fm
there it hangs, smoldered orange above the streetlights
seven flights underway to O’Hare
we’ll strike matches, throw them, see if the orange is flammable

your hands still move on a knitted blanket
looking into the forest preserve on a right turn
Neil Young sings of deserts as the rain begins
this afternoon grandma cried because you did
I assured her you’re exhausted

six dollar fish n’ chips special tonight
the teachers say you have a calm spirit
your head sideways on a blanket after the hearing
another school being closed
I can’t tell if you’re enamored with the architecture of faces at Monroe and LaSalle
we weave through Friday night I-94 lanes
like Al Pacino until the Cadillac in Heat
yet we rush for jamies, milk, Nina and her puppet friend Star

one wouldn’t think it looked like the end of the world
too light and yellow for 8:45 at night
here we are, nine cars waiting at the drive-thru
you lean forward to watch the lightning north of the Wendy’s parking lot
frosty cup twirling in an empty space
orange flowers rocking under pigtails
rearview mirror flashes, pedestrians unconcerned
Peter Gabriel’s ‘Shock the Monkey’ as we wait for a #3, large, with two double stacks
a woman on a bike, plastic bag wavering with groceries on the right handle
like clockwork you ask for a fry

we walk out of Subway and you’re still holding onto the ATM receipt
you point it out in English and German
the pre-valentine harvest moon above the strip mall
in the car, turning the corner of the movie theater parking garage you find it once more
the singer on the radio talks of howling at it
so it goes “na na” behind the trees
your mother calls it “beautiful, gorgeous” above Devon Avenue

Most of the leaves on concrete
with Alicia Keys singing about morning love                                                  
dogs, bikers in shorts
Indian summer begins one week before Halloween
Amtrak #177 passes as Toni Braxton sings down the sun behind a warehouse
Victoria cries at another red light
2/3 moon

Victoria’s asleep
Little Caesars in the front seat
Enigma’s ‘Return to Innocence’ on the 90s countdown on 101.1 fm
I tell Blake it is one of my favorite songs
he shows me his matchbox car (a white, Nissan Skyline GTR R34)
onto Northwest Highway on a Friday night
these are the streets of your mother’s first years
Blake points out the barber, Trader Joe’s
Elm Street is getting dark
the Pickwick Theater, P-I-C of the restaurant flickering

Bob Dylan sings about “pretty people”
storm quickly whipped branches
pothole is nearly filled
the moon is on the other side of gray
last night it was behind clouds, dangerous
Blake asks to roll up my window since rain is coming in
this week you’re concerned over thunder
Victoria has taken her shoes off
the lights on Touhy are off near the bookstore

The radio traffic announces twenty-two minutes downtown
on the interstate from north to south
Blake’s mouth is wide open
facing away from the smudged crescent moon
clouds low on the horizon
Victoria’s saying “mommy” between words like a character from Star Wars
no trains tonight while Ellie Goulding sings of outer space and a fire
I can’t stop thinking about the Newmans
so close to see the president
then a face like pink cabbage
crouching over their children
it will be fifty years in two weeks

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The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!