Thursday lunch
Crayfish & Rocket
Watching the guy who cleans up clean up
I sit with my own frustrations
But soon I begin wondering
What are his rack-able doubts
Does he talk to himself about a past love
Is the swift sidestep
A sign of more flamboyant times
He reminds me of my own poem
The Fedora from Buena Vista
Already I hear the samba & the rhumba
Maybe he was once a galactico
On the sands of Rio de Janeiro
His sensual slipstream movements
Reminiscent...
A feel of the breeze
With the sun on your back
