Blood Moon

Once in a lifetime, so they said, and yet
how wasted it was on the two of us,
blinking, up ahead in the centre of the
windscreen like a poked eye, intent on
cornering a whole sky’s worth of attention
for itself as we drove over that long,
over-complicated hill towards the station.

And all I could focus on with clarity
were the oncoming cars wailing towards
and by us, their lights linked in relay,
and how you were sitting on your
tightly plaited hands, jawbone inclined
a few necessary degrees beyond
the horizontal routine, the expected,

your own eyes shuttered, as though hiding
somewhere between bliss and rancour.
You asked me what I was thinking,
teeth almost crushing the words into dust.
I knew it wasn’t really just a question,
but more of a scalpel, opening me up,
seeing what colour I might bleed.

Robert Ford’s poetry has appeared in a number of print and online publications, including The Interpreter’s House, Brittle Star, Butcher’s Dog and San Pedro River Review. He is a member of The Brewery Poets in Kendal, England. More of his work can be found at

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