It’s quiet, now
Just the sound of distant traffic on it’s daily way
Skirting the early dancing sun that chases mobile shadows
Commencing the ritual of baking the rooftops corrugated iron
Noise, interrupts
I see the street and fleeting feet
Of torsos that come and go, some fast, some slow
Glowing as the blowing sand that swirls around the two girls
He shouts
Everybody hears the Korean hailing a trike
Half decorated motorbike, half tattooed man, who like
Nothing better than to skin the fat cat on the scorched earth’s mat
It’s noisy now
© Harry Mills (7am Saturday 3rd December 2011 Boracay Philippines
All rights reserved
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