The Nite the Moon Broke In
by travis catsull

Laying in my jail cell
with nothing
but my slippers
on the ground,
I see a shadow
creep under the bunk
as a bullet of moon light
breaks through a chip
in the window paint

And I can see

(some)

of the full moon rising
over the razor wire
as a guard fingers
the sports page
and I am laying here
with a grin full of sleeping pills,
my belly limp with saltpeter

The western novel
stashed under my pillow
is riding towards Mexico
without me
and I notice the moon
has stretched over my slippers
and onto the bottom bunk
where a man is snoring
towards freedom
and when he opens his mouth
the dreams of the compound
fill his cavities.

And I am laying here
slowly turning 28,
staring off
as a guard shuffles through the dark
counting our bodies and our breath.

So I pretend to be dead
as the finger of moon
crawls up my ankle
and onto my chest,
nearing my throat
as a grown man chortles
in a black/black corner
and I am laying here
thinking of contraband:

a pair of earplugs
a pizza
a cigarette
a bottle

a huge tuba

to blow the windows from the room
and let moon in this place