A Long Drive Home
The moon is a freckled cheek
Pressed to a dark window.
A soft careful creature with
Skin like milk and tired eyes.
I like to think she’s sleeping,
Pitched sideways against the glass.
Condensation slicking her skin and
The world outside fogged away,
Nothing more to her than a dream.
Perhaps she’s on her way home
But the night keeps driving, on
And on, round and round the
Endless streets. She will never
Get home to a warm bed
But will stay forever, cheek pressed.
The sky a dark window,
And the world fogged away.
Waikato Diocesan School for Girls