The Man in the Moon
I suppose I'm a bit of a goon,
'cos I live in the Moon.
But it's not all it's cracked up to be,
cold and grey, no water in the sea.! ! !
As my life ebbs and ﬂows, I hang on tight,
and bask in the Earthly light.
I don't say " What on Earth!" anymore,
does it matter? I'm a bore.
Deep in the moon's large crater,
sad and lonely, though I'm not a hater.
Staring at the Earth, feeling anger,
I realise I've dropped a clanger.
Staying up here with the Moon,
I talk to her, she thinks I'm a buffoon.
Washing my clothes in Aitken's Basin,
going crazy, a pretend "ideal life" I'm chasing.
Does it make me feel better? Yes,
I don't have to dress to impress.
Frozen in space not time,
Face scrunched up like I'm sucking a lime,
Though all I eat is cold porridge,
I've never heard of Norwich.
And yet, if you didn't talk about me
I wouldn't exist. That makes me pissed.
For if I'm a ﬁgment of imagination,
why bother with this pagination?
I know I wax lyrical on occasion,
Wayne Sleep, more like, on this peroration.
So, while you sleep in your bed,
I will always be somewhere in your head.
From my vantage point in space,
the cornucopia of copulation looks ace!
Nothing to do here, the Moon is so drear.
All I can do is sit and sigh,
but O! The starry sky
makes my soul ﬂy.
I bend over and touch my toes.
"You can kiss my ass!" I suppose...