The tide swells and ripples through the reflected city
Making skyscrapers arch their backs towards us
At our table outside a waterfront bar.
We talk of cheap travel in luxury coaches in Peru,
Backpacking in the Galapagos,
And anywhere else we will never go.
The waiter snaps us, our faces.
“Get the reflection in the shot!”
We Viber it to friends in other places.
Two old wooden boats bob beside us.
We drink too many cocktails,
Arch our backs and bob our heads.
A ferry wake shatters the floating skyscrapers.
People eye our table. Time to go.
‘Hold my hand. The world’s jiggling.”
Now drunk in charge of a bus pass,
10 pm on a Friday night,
Two moon-crater faces reflect in the bus window.
The bus stops at the university where
Dour students hunch aboard,
Bags full of gear and future expectations.
Old, we expect no future. We travel light.
Soon we wobble from the bus.
The pavement rises to meet us.
I fumble the front door key.
My hand, spotlit by the moon,
Looks like still water over white rocks.