I almost disappeared—
got locked out of my hotel
lost my phone, and key.
A man found my wallet
and me outside a shop,
trying to discern street signs
like I tried earlier to decode
the numbers on the elevator.
got locked out of my hotel
lost my phone, and key.
A man found my wallet
and me outside a shop,
trying to discern street signs
like I tried earlier to decode
the numbers on the elevator.
I could never remember to press the star.
I was in dreamtime and moment.
I was the char of a good burger in a cider bar
I was the whiff of salt mist and spindrift
on everyone’s pent-up stories
how we roared with accents and punchlines.
I was watching the way people had shrunk
or inflated— ten years later—and just beyond
the promenade, I eyed the same
sad, rusted swing which sits amid the sea grass
which has not grown an inch, I swear.
I was not beside myself but upside down.
Winter in a summer holiday town
means you can’t turn your back to the ocean
but feel free to sashay down the middle of Main,
where your ass is drenched but your front pockets
remain dry. It’s good to not remember
how time moves, or what dreams sunk
in the cool Necanicum, or what reflection
mirrors back under a waning moon,
how the clock inside you still ticks.