to sit around with me on the beach blanket
and talk in happy voices about their good jobs
and good homes and good politics
and breathe in the spicy gusts of sea breeze
together, with a kind of ecstasy,
and with all that combined happiness,
lift me, cartwheel me across the salt dab sands,
rolling head over head, lightly,
end over end, lightly,
on and on, like tumble weed,
uprooted, inspired deeply, moved deeply,
as if there is nothing I should be doing
and they doing everything they should be doing.
It is too late in the day
to change the day.
All is all.
But if I could revoke, would I?
Now that I've bonded so deeply
with the anti-dream?