Bad Back Lament

I should be on the beach
I say the beach
I mean THE beach, at Beer

Should – such a simple word -
Flings us against a world
Infected with realists

Whose dreams seem
Surgically removed, or
Dissolved in the digestive
Juice of this world’s
System of shock and stare

The stare it gives you
When hope is reduced
To stumble at one mile an hour

Yes. I should be somersaulting
Through the breakers
Or floating on my back between
Blue sea and blue sky
Lost in the vastness
Of all that is beyond me

Instead, I join the ranks
Of those who long
For apples on higher branches

Who hear a voice
Calling us to leave
And plant our feet on new ground