Apple and Bermuda shorts

[Keith]

Edit 1

If I were tall I could touch the Brooklyn Bridge,
stroke hidden details, those travellers
miss when driving upside down on
designs crafted in the minds of giants.
Your hair and skirt dance gypsy in the breeze.

The wake foams and broils behind us,
our moment’s marker to say "we were here"
I’m standing top deck running track, ready, steady,
breathless Americans push oxygen cylinders
as they race the hares to breakfast,
blood level enrichment with syrup.
I fill myself by looking at their left over’s,
balanced on an African waiters head.

Bermuda will offer pastels, colonial built,
basking Chameleons, blending British.
And I wonder if he had learned
to carry water like that as a boy.


Original
We sail goodbye to the green bronze of Liberty,
she torches the view, lighting fires over glass icons,
a page from the architects brochure.
Hair and skirt dance gypsy in the breeze.

If I were tall I could touch the Brooklyn Bridge,
stroke hidden details, those travellers
miss when driving upside down on
designs crafted in the minds of giants.

The wake foams and broils behind us,
our moment’s marker to say "we were here"
I’m standing top deck running track, ready, steady,
breathless Americans push oxygen cylinders.

Racing the hares to breakfast,
blood level enrichment with syrup.
I fill myself by looking at their left over’s,
balanced on an African waiters head.

I see Bermuda's pastels, colonial built,
basking Chameleons, blending British.
And wondered if he had learned
to carry water like that as a boy.