Liberian Literary Magazine
’Twas Brillig
Richard Wilson Moss
Promoting Liberian Literature, Arts and Culture
And said, you did alright,
see you tomorrow
But that night I died.
With ruddy face and
blue bow tie
Waiting until it is time
To dance around the
maypole.
19
Moving Day
Of this world I was dying
Until the movers came
And made me one of
them
They said, you work with
us now
Up front in the truck I
rode
With three of them, one
was drunk
Passing a flask, he said,
you better
Take a shot, its a long
day
And it was, we moved
heavy
But elegant things and
then
Broken down sofas, we
moved
The working class into
Two bedroom, one bath
homes
And one place, the old
one dead
Left her things to charity
Which we could not
understand
Victorian chairs and
lamps, cobwebs
On velvet drapes, the
drunk fell asleep
On a cherry and gold
divan
And when the sun fell
down again
The movers took me
home
And the foreman pulled
me aside
Slapped my back
AnnBee
Mayday
If you scribble, turn the
page
Sun scrawls as it turns
back
Forever to the edge
Scrape shoes on hot
pavement
Your stars are peeled
away
By lesser force, by the
slightness
Of surrounding darkness
At the party of deep red
plum
Pin tails on donkeys
Paper will bleed
Carrot cake arrives, have
some
If you have scribbled,
you have turned the
page
The guest book still
unmarred, almost
handsome
I am shifting legs of dark
corduroy
48
AnnBee from
downstream visits
And says the moon must
be bigger
For the tides seem
stronger
The seagulls are more
stubborn
On the pier, they won't
fly off
Until nearly upon them
And at daybreak there
are more strangers
At the boat ramp
Launching even stranger
boats
And they are cold to me
Seem quite suspicious.
Again I have to tell Miss
AnnBee
Those at the ramp are
your good friends
You have known them
for years
You have been in their
boats
The moon is the same,
the tides unchanged
The birds, as always,
brave and unvexed
And AnnBee looks at me
Asking, are you
confident all of that is
true?
copyright 2005 Richard Wilson Moss