Driving down the dry road to the port
Five o’clock and soon the ferry leaves
We listen to your homemade folk
Music, much too slow
Much too slow to be on time
And still, we drive lazy all the while.

Roll past mothers’ clean-cut sleeping places
Feeling ‘round for cigarettes
In your empty glove compartment
Though you no longer smoke
Shut my eyes, smoke it easy
Taking slow and separate breaths.

I am looking through my sunstained window
A place where older trees had all burnt down
Its not far to reach the docks
But I skip the soulful song
About finding love and folding boxes
Threadbare weeds and scrub have grown there now.

Pull up to the boat for my departure
Just five minutes late it starts to rain
Find my bag and coat, grasp my ticket
As the ferry throbs to life
Run to board the rusted giant
Wave to you a hard-to-see goodbye.