Looking to the Horizon

Or sunk just off the coast

Of my life

Of this island

That I live on

Content with two cats, a few visitors

and a hardy survivor from the

other side of this island.

She no longer visits

To take me to bars, dancehalls,

shopping

for jeans that show off my ass, for men.

A message in a bottle.

A swipe at my neighbor.

But to me she’s gone.

I guess I shouldn’t care.

That blonde pirate, cutting a swathe

With her criticisms.

Tired of the warning flags, the skull and bones.

I can choose my own friends.

But sometimes, they don’t choose me.

6/7/05

© 2006 Anne Westlund

Image:  treasure map by butchen (deviantart.com)