GUEST POET: Chris Whitelaw (aka Riddim Metric)

Unapologetic and unfashionably late,

Friday afternoon saunters over

sprawls down and stares

over my shoulder,

staring so far off

I thought it had gone blind.

The Weekend is shamelessly naked

and spread-eagled before me,

as is the Ocean - yet bolder.

She’s big as Day

and like a spoon, always open.

Her unwavering glare

burns like a desert wasteland,

I always blink first.

Collapsed under the Sun

I run down drinks fast.

Salty sweat beads

and runs into rivulets; excited

the Ocean is so close.

Cars go past trailing boats,

bikes go past dinking girls,

couples go past swinging,

their secret handshake between them….

and all catch me

staring Friday and naked.

At least it was natural

I torch cigarettes and sweat.

A dog trundles past, somewhere to be.

I breathe smoke and down drinks.

The Breeze skips carelessly past,

tripping over

the empty pages of my notebook.

Caring finally takes it leave

and mine with it.

Seaside living means never feeling guilty

about a day off, the ninth day,

or losing your job

somewhere.

The Sun has the Ocean hypnotized

and thinking a ravishing isn’t out of the question.

It’s eager glare widens and brightens,

drawn in by the Horizon,

colouring my awareness that this Vista

and all who sail in her

have been forming Opinion

about me.

Music turns up just in time,

drowning Verdict mercilessly

and so I salute the Greenflash

and drink up

to Centrefold Saturday.

Chris Whitelaw is a west Australian poet. For more search Facebook for ‘Riddim Metric’.