On thick clay tiles lay a man
A yellow sea in a far away land
Watching the sea he looks at the sky
A flock of birds descend and then goes high
He relaxes his thoughts reaching for a beer
The ships look tired as they draw near
He sips and shoos the buzzing of a fly
He wants a job but knows it’s a lie
The air is moist with beer and salt
A Hemingway afternoon down to a fault
On the beach two girls bathe in the surf
A man is selling fish knowing their worth
The trouble began in a much younger life
He used to have children, a home and a wife
Now only a saloon, a bed and the roof
He used to exist but now there’s no proof
But inside him there stirs a new sound
Maybe tomorrow from this roof I’ll come down
But until then I’ll drink and I’ll sleep
Yesterday’s gone and not even the angels will weep
Page 166 Cowboys and Witches by John K Bucher
