Speedos race on towards the shore and into the sea
With verve pulsating underneath them.
It beats for hydration;
For the abandon of the crashing waves.
It’s yearned for the weekend libation
And has welcomed this Saturday.
Hop, skip, jump, SPLASH !
A choir of cymbals reaches out to thank Heaven,
Then leaps back down to savour flesh.
Can you taste the salt ?
Does it sting your eyes ?
Linger for the abandon of the crashing waves;
The horizon’s just a couple more miles away,
Over which, they say, old stories find new ears
And bygones, new eras.
Once life has had its feel of the sea
It swells and splits at its seams;
And the Great Blue, once filled with life,
Will, with a mighty shrug,
Spit it back out to be seen …
…With sea weed, headless chickens and empty bottles;
Pleas and sacrifices and half-delivered messages.
Is anyone really out there ?
And can they hear your screams ?
Speedos lay on the shore, out of the sea.
They fit rather differently now:
Tighter, stiller, at ease.
Abandoned by the crashing waves,
They yearned for the weekend liberation
And welcomed this Saturday.
Two collaborations with Zach Collins.
Collaboration with Michael Orr (started by MO, finished by ZC)
“Aren’t we all mirrors held up
To each others’ preconceptions and prejudices?
Wouldn’t you rather trade in time
For seven years of bad luck:
Four for every bad impression given
And three for every gotten?”
A silent slip away later left warm indentations
Where the lady in black used to be,
And as the leather chair slowly filled out,
A cold glass rim met my wry smile.
- O S Akingbade