Sigh. It's ten o'clock at night. We're leaving La Manz tomorrow, flying back to Vancouver. We're mostly packed. Mostly ever so sorry to be leaving. Oh yes, it will be good to hug friends and family back home, but...but. This place has stolen a little piece of my heart, for sure.
Today's challenge is to write a love poem that doesn't obviously invoke love and all the usual attendant clichés, and I'm just flummoxed. Obviously, I am accustomed to sneaking the odd cliché-like thing into my love poems. So, what to do? And before midnight, to keep up with the poem-a-day scenario.
I shall write something right here and now. Here goes:
Playlist for a Saturday Night
Clouds? A few.
Music in the background? Of course.
Dylan's singing about Sara and kids on the beach, now deserted,
so hard to fathom this Easter week in La Manzanillo,
the beach a blur of humans.
Fiona Apple's hot-knifing her butter boy,
Robbie's gone down some crazy river
and even though Molly's left, Tofo Stravinsky's chasing mice, shooting out lights.
Maria? She's howling at that Cajun moon as if she knew
the one here tonight's as full as a heart can ever be.
Basia washes away March blues with a Jobim tune,
Melissa's calling me in out of the rain
while the Doobie's woo me with Black Water
and for sure there's something in the air tonight,
at least, according to Phil.
Frankie makes a fool of himself and so, of me,
and maybe, just maybe I'm losing my religion
but best of all this Saturday night?
My boy, singing Donovan
all the way down Goudge Street,
sun spilling out all over.