That Scoundrel, the Moon

Being human, I resent
Any abstraction
That doesn’t present as planned.

Nights can be clear around here
For weeks, weeks, and weeks on end,
And every full moon can leer

Like a mugshot crudely scrawled
Onto the skin of a white
Helium balloon,

Close and bright, but on the night,
The one night of the eclipse,
The blushing moon tried to hide

High in veils of clouds.
Tonight, bold, back out again.