Coughing Lunatic
By Allan Lake
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Tonight while walking along the shore,
the moon and I engaged in a game.
Luna would appear from behind clouds –
illuminating same – and I’d fix my eyes
on her and think, Luna, you big flirt!
Enjoying myself as constant moon
went around its extraordinary planet.
For some reason it took me back
to a misguided pilgrimage made in youth
where I witnessed an old zealot peeking
from behind a tree trunk, pretending
for the benefit of perplexed pilgrims
that he could not bear to be any closer
to the house-cum-shrine of his in-
fallible dead messiah.
Luna and I had no audience
– other than billions of stars –
being manifestations of what’s
ordinary. I was coughing,
probably falling ill, despite
breathing that salty sea air.
Allan Lake is a migrant poet from Allover, Canada who now lives in Allover, Australia. Coincidence. He has published poems in 20 different countries. His latest chapbook of poems, entitled ‘My Photos of Sicily’, was published by Ginninderra Press. It contains no photos, only poems.