Neon Signs

Glimmering in the moonlit night,
it was one of them signs towed
at the back of a truck, bright
like Gen.hookers gals…always, bright.

I scraped at my window, to see
If the light would brighten the
damply room. Was it heresy?
What it clearly read? Too artsy?

Perhaps, I needed cleaner windows
mine were hardly, like ghostly
canvases which took the artists’ blows
and were left bland and callous.

I could hear the neighbours cot
creaking, his gelded weight
burdening it. The floor rot
with him acting up the colt.

I stepped into the night
and my drunk heart was singin
a medley to the moonlight
the sign still flashed birght.

The muted moans next door
were killed by the neon buzz
that lit up the ground floor
and then died at my door.