Old Sam

My wife . . . Hazel . . . See?
She doesn’t stir from her
bed.
See . . . the full green moon?

She sees the shine in his eye,
what now?

I think of Old Sam
peering up at the full green moon.
Standing in his bed clothes facing the
clear sky over his lake saying
my wife
Hazel? Hazel? See?

She tells me how my old fool uncle woke her
up in the middle of the night
to look at the moon over the lake.

It isn’t really just his lake.
Nor his full green moon.
But it is his rickety house
with big picture window
in the second story
master back bedroom.
And he only wants to share it
and the green moon shine
on the cool dark wavelets
with one woman.

Hazel? See?