A normal day is a strange affair

A normal day is a strange affair

The aroma of desiccated seaweed

Assails the morning air

Why are all the bodies

Buried

In mud and Mangroves

Rolled gold beauty

Reflected in a rock pool

Blighted by the dying

Old trees have wise faces

Staring out benignly

From deeply furrowed brows

What do they know

Of wage slaves

Wearing tool belts

Laden with pliers

And screwdrivers

As wiley knaves

Keep an eye out

For the foreman

Avid readers

Sit at tables with a book

Cheeky Magpies steal a look

It is how they learn

To act sophisticated

Wear the labels on the outside

Drink coffee from a glass

Without a handle

Refueling caffeine

After Pilates class

Retired policemen

Who followed every rule

Swim fifty lengths

In the local pool

Study philosophy

After hours

As wise as Buddha

In a tunic

Taking the high ground

On a Sunday

Over dinner

Walk on water

In their dreams

And slip away

From the party

Without so much

As a by your leave

When they believe

The time is right.