The Light Side of the Moon.

I saw my old friend, the moon, today hanging out in the bright Autumn sky.
I said, "Hey man, whatcha doing? Haven't seen ya for a while."

He was supposed to be full, but was a see-through disc, thin and watery.
He said, "Not sure. I'm not usually up this early. Ya know, graveyard shift."

My knotted back, aching feet, and chafed hands throbbed in a sympathetic symphony.
I said, "I hear ya, I'm not where I should be either. I'm a dishwasher again."

His sigh echoed through the empty space and then he chuckled with a cheesy grin.
He said, "Remember when we thought we'd blaze a trail around the world like the sun?"

Like me he is a glimmering reflection of former glory's falling star.
I said, "I guess we both know how cycles grind us in the gears of time."

Yes, full seasons and fading ones; hanging by a fingernail, disappearing, then finding a crescent of hope.
He said, "Besides work, what's your new moon, and I ain't talking vapid vampires here."

I wasn't sure and then it hit me; he'd enjoy this as the subject of many well meaning poets.
I said, "Like an old vet in a threadbare uniform, I'm dusting off my poetry notebook for a contest."

Quizzically, his head tilted on its axis, then he startled the stars with his booming laugh.
He said, "Remember that poem you wrote about me that was really about you?"

Oh yeah, the last time I tried to be a serious wordsmith with a somber theme.
I said, "You mean that birthday poem, 'The man in the moon turns 30'? That one was good."

With a twinkle in his eye, he solemnly shook his head, put on his empathy face, and patted my arm.
He said, "I'm sorry to be the one to remind you, but that was more than 13 years ago."