Houses held up like puppets.
Pylon-wire branches spread out;
assuring the land wont drift far out to sea,
or melt into the earth with subsidence.
Cotton-wool-candy-floss caught up in cranes,
wind-whipped, white-wash, wispy, whippy clouds.
Do you remember when we waited in line for 99s?
The sky was busy with boats, the sea so blue. No, I mean...
And I had strawberry syrup dripping down my cone
and a multi-coloured sticky chin.
We watched the boats going out, coming in;
then we joined the rest to say goodbyes.
All the hands were wagging; electric flapping.
Water splashing up against the dock.
The arms propelled the ship.
Gemmed fingers dancing farewells;
the jangle of bangled wrists;
waving in the air, propelling the ship away
to retirement paradises,
honeymoon bliss,
champagne seascapes.
Always in the middle this place,
on the edge of a million-gazillion other worlds.
The rumble rattle of engines as I walk along
to look out at the reeds; on search for quiet idleness.
Leaves rustle, tickled by the breeze.
A train passes in-between;
on its way, on its way...
I sit on a bench nearby and hear a hum of life amongst the hedges.
Then,
walk back
with orange light bouncing in and out
of windows' winking eyes;
watching the chalk line,
aeroplane trails in the sky
cut through the blue.
Written in September 2015 for local SO: to speak festival.
