Strawberry moon yielding constellations on a Saturday night

I don't know if it was the impressive beauty of the pink-orange moon that appeared to settle over Boise or that it was Friday night after all the olds are at home or already sleeping and not worried about their teenage kids who were roaming downtown cruising Front and Myrtle while gangs of younger boys sped by on rented city scooters and girls laughed loudly under pink hair wearing flowy dresses and Chuck Taylors recapturing the best of the alternative late eighties and early nineties and the older boys parked with hoods up on imported cars blasting sonic vibrations of their fragile egos while girlfriends drank colorful drinks from glass bottles except for the one very pregnant girl in low cut jeans and a halter top looking like a little moon herself radiant with the energy of all creation inside her glowing out and everyone was looking at everyone and no one felt seen, least of all me looking for the moon among the energy of people living like stars in newly formed constellations.

June 2024. Read about how this poem emerged.