Reader, I know you don’t know why
the moon calls out to me to say
You go girl, but I love the way
she says it, like it’s fine I weigh
the most I’ve ever weighed. One time,
I called back, remembered the fine
I paid to that creepy cop, back
when he pulled me over, the crack
of his grin, and how, then, he licked
his mustache, my car window, blacked-
out. I rolled it down, and he looked
away. He looked away. He booked
my body, not seeing my face
until the sky turned over, laced
with light, and then I watched him grace
my body with his eyes, the price
of fatness. But the moon says hey
each night. She opens up. She stays.