Oh, friends
I was quick, too quick,
to return to the grind of occupational habit
so that here in the mainland of shit
every smile I see curl,
every cold beverage that’s raised,
is a reminder that
for a time,
amidst the troughs of this grind,
we took a lease on tracts of sand and ocean,
the azure dome and the fresh green fronds,
the swells of emotion
We were tipsy
We were carefree
The sun rose and set,
teetering drunk on time,
maundering,
stumbling
under a oven sky
We toasted our glasses, and
with each page we turned,
each one a farewell
to the tyranny of
the grind
The grist of our nature
churned in a blender
papaya, melon, cigars, vodka
the spray of friendship
from the twist of the rind.
