Moon (a poem)

[So, I got hit by the muse at lunch a couple of weeks, maybe a month, ago, and wrote this.  Not sure what kind of mood I was in.  Let me know what you think.]


Bright white in the dim evening,
a surreal, glowy, pockmarked orb.

shedding its tarnished glory or the arena crowd.

The lights were out,
someone pulled a plug.

A prank?

Play halts; the ref blows a whistle.
Emergency lamps flash.

The home team – in blue and gold – stand confused,
the ball forgotten.

The winning team – in red and black – snicker and jostle.

The crowd whispers;
it builds to a dull crescendo.

And the young man pulls up his red track pants
and runs like hell.