Calling out in an underground parking garage in Ottawa
or Montreal, but I tell you no-one was lost. At least I wasn’t.
Then how was it we ended up on St Kilda beach later that morning,
a gypsy bar that afternoon, while all the disenchanted world worked?
“You can fly you know”. The gulls blinked – they’re used to
such profundity and listened attentively. We gorged on sunlight
impounded in Indonesian mangos as the ocean sculpted
a sign legible only to two. But when the little one said
roll over, it was hard to recall when we were young
and no-one followed those tight silk pants but my hands.
The temples are waiting, let them. I could clean the bathroom
but there’s no sense setting the record straight. You know,
it’s a long way to buy a decent key lime pie,
we should just make one here. And a couple of mojitos.
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