sinatra on the moon

i’m trapped on the moon with a bottle of whiskey
i’m sitting in a lawn chair watching the earth
rotate around the sun and it reminds me of the way
we used to dance together, in strange jazz clubs
whose names i don’t remember, i could never remember
i remember the way we reclined our car seats back
and pretended to stare at the stars, when in truth
we were just staring at the ceiling of the car
where the cigarette smoke had eaten away at the fabric

how things have changed
your spaceship left long ago, at my request
and i awoke from dreams that i had sent you away
from earth, only to learn you had left me on the moon
trapped on the moon with a bottle of whiskey
i’m sitting in a lawn chair watching the cell phone satellites
hover around the twittersphere, swing around the blogosphere
the big blue ocean and the waves that crash that mean nothing
to me but form the sand that forms the glass window
you maybe stare out like some cheesy fifties movie or something
at the moon, the full moon or maybe the absent moon
i don’t know, but we could be staring at one another
but maybe that’s just the whiskey talking
and to think i almost didn’t bring the whiskey with me
the only thing that could have made the moon more lonely

i feel like frank sinatra up here in the stratosphere
not charming, young sinatra
washed up smoked stained suit sinatra
sinatra knowing he will never sleep with a woman again
as beautiful as you were in that red dress at that ball
in new york city on new year’s eve in america on earth
the sinatra who proudly proclaims the glass of whiskey
in his hand and shares with the audience that he is
in fact, quite belligerent, and when life gives you lemons
you take the first spaceship up to the moon
so you can sit forever and collect your thoughts over whiskey
which, of course, are muddled like a weird trumpet solo
like when the band drops off and there’s no drums and no nothing
just miles davis solo romantic silent – listen, just shut up and listen

i’m trapped on the moon with a bottle of whiskey
and earth is this gem that i used to own
that i auctioned off in exchange for an eternity of quiet
endless space, endless silence, peace and god damn quiet

peace and god damn quiet.



Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

20 thoughts on “SINATRA ON THE MOON”

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  2. Has a bunch of my favorite themes – very nice. Odd, I am currently here on earth, single malt in hand, observing full moon over NYC. Had some Miles on earlier. My reality is all jumbled up with your poem somehow. I kind of wish it was the younger Sinatra that you view from the wings in black and white, master of the genre, lean, curved like a parenthese at the RKO mike, but it couldn’t be otherwise there on the moon. —–Chagall

    1. I’ve been getting more into jazz as of late. Watching a documentary “Ken Burns Jazz”. Any recommendations for some good songs? I’m madly involved with Denver but also super jealous you’re in NYC.

      1. I think Kind of Blue and A Love Supreme are hallmark albums, if you don’t already have those, the former certainly more accessible. You have a preference for era and instrumentation?

      2. Kinda sorta. I love saxophone. I’m a big fan of bebop, but I also love the slow played kind of trumpet stuff. Love Take Five, Nightmare, St. Jame’s Infirmary, Koko. I’ve listened to Kind of Blue a bit. Need to give it some time. I just feel like I stumbled into this rabbit hole and found myself in this wonderland of jazz. Love Charles Mingus and Bird. I’m new to John Coltrane and T Monk but thus far am super impressed.

  3. You might like Billy Strayhorn and even Dizzy Gillespie. I like 50’s early 60’s jazz. I think the U.S./world was in a certain state of mind then that is reflected in the jazz.

    1. I agree, and as cliche would have it, I’m a big fan of the beat poets so I can easily relate to the jazz ideology of that era. Never even heard of Billy Strayhorn! Jazz is just so much fun.

  4. I peruse the thrift shops for Sinatra record albums. Hey, can’t lose for a dollar , right ? But not for the record. Framed album covers of Frankie Boy can bring $25 – $50.

    ” washed up smoked stained suit sinatra
    Sinatra knowing he will never sleep with a woman again”

    Doubt this characterization could ever be accurate for S but would fit the likes of Errol Flynn and Judy Garland near the end.

  5. I came across an LP of Sinatra once that was probably the saddest thing I’d ever heard. Sadder than Johnny Cash in his last years. I even think there was some I Pagliacci reference on the cover. Tears of a clown or some such….
    Your analogy really captures the right feeling here, love it.

      1. yeas jazz is great i love that jazz period just after the war, Parker right through with Miles kind of blue is an album I never get tired of

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