In A Queue, In A Cafe

took sight of the seafaring kind
in a queue, in a cafe, that wound around
tables and carried on the line out the door.


your small vessel body will travel
with clothes and stitches and sails of material,
mapping points in the tide that'll
slide away as you move on
unafraid.


your jumper hangs off your left side
shoulder, or is that your port
side shoulder that dips lower in the air
than you starboard blade?
i'm new to this, please stay and listen



Catamaran girl with a smile as white as wave tip breaks,
what a sight you are on this flat sea lake
of-a-queue in the height of summer,
the air-con-is-broken-
we could leave now and do a runner
find a boat and paddle out,
fix the rudder and raise the mast,
have summer on an island
and not look back.