The Moon Has Been Drinking in New Mexico
Secretary of the Navy Stephen Mallory leans back in his chair, feet propped on his desk, eating persimmons while reading the Richmond Whig. He reads slowly, quietly pronouncing each word. This morning is particularly dreary, and Mallory struggles to read in the dim light. He doesn’t burn the lamp; whale oil is getting far too dear.
My keys fall into the ignition and the van lurches forward. Along the narrow, two-lane highway, varmints cower in their holes. The moon is bouncing off guardrails and the arroyos glitter like boneyards at midnight.
For a moment I am back in Virginia, thinking of friends far away, but only for a moment when I realize that the bottle is half full. Well, it’s no damn fun until it’s all gone! Bottoms up! One for the ditch! Wham-Bam! MY GOD, THE MOON IS ALL OVER THE PLACE!!
Papa, look at me, I’m driving a car.
Mama, look, I'm waltzing with the moon.
Lover, I'm a child again But, missy, whom are you waltzing with now? I can't even remember the sound of your hello or the heft of your breast, but I do remember looking at that smile and falling all over the place, like moonlight.
YIPES! Here's my driveway! OUFF! CARAMBA! OUCH!
Too loco!
As the dust settles, my fat cat pads through the darkness to greet me. He flops on his side in the sand. In the distance I hear the Santa Fe chugging south. The moon is all over the dirt. It’s all over the slate porch, the adobe walls, the windmill, the brilliant spinning stars…. It's all over EVERYTHING!
The moon has been drinking in New Mexico.