Barefoot on the beach;
a warm breath of dust clings
to anaemic ankles of a curtain wall
waiting for tired surf to rest
under the shade of sunlight—
a shovel and bucket coloured red,
little boy’s haircut hugging breeze
and we laugh at the Sun still wet
our toes done up with grains of sand.
Shadows of seagulls
battling translucent fish,
and disregarded aluminum cans.
Dirt resting under nails and heels—
I watch through scope of an arrowslit
and I hear teenagers and electronica,
flip flops sliding past convertibles,
and we laugh at the Sun still wet
our toes done up with grains of sand.
POETRY: MAXWELL NAJMI
