16. River

Scudding a river of headlamps,
mirrored glass, the beaten iron air.
Paying your fare, crossing the park
on foot, two men overtake you,
dirt-stamped, drunk in their 20s.
Want some? A Merlot lofted.
Their stunned eyes frisk you,
trading your valuables for crack.
You can read minds. Yet they’re
free in the way they approach you.
They own little, flotsam tumbling
life’s spume. If they break loose
from each other, the river holds
them. Are you feeling it now?

@ianjmclachlan