Why the Moon is in the Outhouse

Frank Stanford

We shall not all sleep
But we shall all be changed,
It says in the Bible somewhere.

When I was young I didn't owe any doctor bill.
Now they send me statements, special delivery,
Envelopes of X-rays I hold up to the moon,
The cancer swimming up my guts like tadpoles.

In the orphanage the other boys would
Put minnows in my underwear.
I wouldn't wake up.
I would dream about a green cat.

A wealthy lady loved the cat.
She gave money to the Church.
The priest told her she could love the cat.

Her chauffeur would drive up,
Get out, and light his cigarette.
This was the signal the lady wanted the cat.
One night the cat said I could go with them.

We drove through the delta in a black Cadillac.
In those days people asked why do fools fall in love
And they called the place we went niggertown.

There was a blind man out front of a juke joint.
He sold red carnations.
The cat always bought a flower for the lady.

You had to say the password
And the blind man knocked on a door with his cane.

The cat did all the talking.

All hell broke loose when they opened the door.
Everybody was carrying on.

There was a waiter who could dance
With a silver platter
Balanced on his finger.
He brought me a pop.
I told all the people I wasn't spoken for.

The cat and the lady went into another room.
I could hear them throwing their dough
Against the boards, making their bread.
I could smell the blind man behind me.
He said he wasn't blind, he was hypnotized.
I drank soda and looked at his watch,
The waiter twirling the platter.

He said when he snapped his fingers
I would open my eyes.
I wouldn't remember the orphans,
The green cat or the lady.
I would be older, set in my ways,
Holding something black up to the light

Ginny Stanford