F-Stop Blues
Hermit crabs and cowrie shells, crushed beneath his feet as he comes towards
you,
he’s waving at you.
Lift him up to see what you can see, as he begins his focusing,
he’s aiming at you.
And now he has, cut aways from memories and closeups of anything
that he has seen or even dreamed, and now he’s finished focusing.
He’s imagining lightening striking, sea sickness away from here.
Look who’s laughing now that you’ve wasted,
how many years and you’ve barely even tasted,
anything remotely close to everything you’ve boasted about.
Look who’s crying now.
Driftwood floats after years of erosion.
Incoming tide touches roots to expose them.
Quicksand steals my shoes.
Clouds bring the F-stop blues.
Look who’s laughing now that you’ve wasted,
how many years and you’ve barely even tasted,
anything remotely close to everything you’ve boasted about.
Look who’s crying now.
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