in the dark they call me Moonshine
that liquor in a glass jar.
boozy white reflection.
full moon, wrinkled black lake.
they baptized me in the name of back alleys
the kind you shout lessons at
where your footsteps echo in the rain.
I’m baptized in the name of homemade medicine
comfort on cold docks
or damp, peeling basements.
I could be a moon to reflect their sun
or the lake to take it
or the grass to keep it company.
Or I could simply be the hooch.