Wednesday, 1 June 2016

Time For a Postcard 2.

brmmm splash

Last time I crossed this sea my mother was ill, soon to die.

I was alone, or soon to be.

I learnt to spin a rope on the deck as the land slipped past.

The moon tonight is not full, but soon to be.

The swimming pool on the deck is empty of water, but the bar is full of members of the Harley Davidson Club, soon to be full of beer.

I’m in the cabin, soon to be asleep.

I’ve showered; I’m listening to jazz.

I’m not alone.


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