The Wandering Eye
by Antonio Hernandez
'Twas the eleventh month eve
with a hangnail moon
in the inkblot sky
and fruit with flies
rotten in the gutters rank with piss.
The lovers returned,
drunk and gluttonous
their lips shining with fast congealing grease
and an empty labored laugh landed in the street
like the body from the window last week.
As she clutched to he
with a slant eyed grin
she reeled and said "I saw your wandering eye,
on the barmaid it fell
on her breasts that did swell
with the fast rising hangnail moon.
Beneath inkblot skies,
amongst the fruit with flies
rotten in the gutters rank with piss.
He laughed and choked
yet stuttered when he spoke
"She with the pearls?
And the long flowing curls?
And the jewels that sparkle and shine in light?
Belinda the young pretty barmaid?
'Tis not my type,
but a flit in the night,
come sit by my side 'neath the hangnail moon
and the inkblot skies
by the fruit with flies
rotten by the gutters rank with piss.
And the moon sailed fast
through the stars amassed
like a scythe through the late season hay.
He fell against she, and his eyes closed too-
the weight of the waking world upon him.
He dreamed like a boy,
sweet visions of joy-
the barmaid in nothing but jewels and pearls.
"Belinda!" he spake
And she gave him a shake
in the light of a hangnail moon.
Closer she danced,
sweet kisses she did blow,
her hand reached out to his face and neck.
In her hand was a spoon,
that shone 'neath the moon
A pretty thing,
just a flit in the night.
But her hand moved fast
the spoon she drove past
his eye she did pluck
with a sickening THUCK!
that then rolled to the gutters rank with piss.
He woke with a start
with his eye that did smart
warm blood did flow
on sheets white as snow,
he shrieked and howled in the night.
"Belinda!?!?!?" she spat
With the spoon in hand
and the eye she had carved
"Worry not my love,
'Twas a flit in the night,
nothing more, nothing less, rest!"
He shrieked and screamed
and her eyes did gleam
as he moaned and clutched at his face
'neath the hangnail moon
fading in the night
with the inkblot sky
and the fruit with flies
rotten by the gutters rank with piss.
