Rula

Your son has gone home, to his Papa and waves bye bye, you lie in the lemon zone, birds thrum their tune, crickets sing to the half light, salt rims the dunes, you moan the toils of Rome, scientists of a global nigh, your mother prays to atone, she explores an open wound, smoking her Camel Lites, just to worry you, you stay as she moans, no sea or given fire, between you and the slope, over a shoulder bone, starlings turn in final flight, you shudder and say alone, 'so this is our time'. the path i tread is tight kids on yellow block reel cool evening tunes, without dreams on lonely piers, you left me marooned, regular as the five and dime, she pulls at my traces, the world isn't blue, guilt is washed away, she knows what she's doing, the moon is her nosegay it haunts her face, shudder with each wine, think of the next engagement, in the evening gloom, other shipwreck signs, of someone else's purlieu, learn to dance don't get blue, ignore those cool untruths, give me just one more time. what comes to meet you, the decks that grace her due, each sea green evening, she dances on Hawaii, thats what she'd like to do