Steady As She Goes

Blowing bubbles and
swinging in a yellowing glaze,
these days seem beyond
any bright human phase.

Cider-sweet fingers
blowing smoke to the Gods;
we’re a firework’s coda
us, denimed roughshods.

Beating a rhythm
on a table that leans
we monopolise time
in our halcyon dreams.

Stand firm and sway
while lungs contemplate
days gone in a fire;
our minds infiltrate.