African Sky.

I’ve got Friday
tucked in my hip pocket.
Watching a juggernaut of want
set sail from a deep berth.

No place on earth I’d not
trade, to be riding her steel
over phosphorescent seas.

I am bound by paper
to this piece of ground,
to the light that reflects
off the Indian ocean.

The wash of urgency
to be free.
A fringe short
of trimming,
hides oceans flowing
from homesick eyes.

Still I’ve got Friday
in my hip pocket.
A dividend of labour
to feed the mouths
of home

And five hours
overtime sweat, all my own
to buy a chunk of forget
and a bottle of gin.

– Dave Kavanagh.

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