Sam the Moon Faced Boy

Sam the Moon Faced boy,

looked up to the night sky.

He stared at the Moon

and saw his own reflection,

he wondered who would

tease the Moon.

Sam the Moon Faced Boy,

walked home from school

every day along a very busy

street, where drivers and

passers-by would point and

stare as Sam walked by.

“Look at the size of that kid’s head,”

they’d shout and glare.

“I can see Neil Armstrong’s footprint,”

one or two would say.

“I didn’t know about the eclipse today,”

some old wise ass would snicker.

Sam the Moon Faced boy,

never let it get to him,

he never let the enormity of his

head, his extremely white skin,

the little tuft of hair on his north pole,

be a source of shame.

Sam the Moon Faced boy,

knew he was better, no matter how

their words would sting and stab.

He knew his eyes were the most

beautiful blue. His mother called

them her sea of tranquility.

Sam the Moon Faced boy

looked up at the night sky

and at his own reflection in

the window glass, superimposed

over the true Moon.

Only one had tears in their eyes.

“Can’t lie to the Moon,” said Sam

the Moon Faced boy as he wiped

his cheek with his sleeve.

“Can’t lie to the Moon,” he repeated

as the stars and the clouds moved

across the heavens.