Paul pretended to like walking

 Sarcasm bounces off that softness
A man with wit has no business telling the truth
He said he would like to invite the group to walk the hill
But when everyone arrived he sat in the pool

He made fun of the way the walkers dressed
Gulped a caiparinha and told them he would not walk
The enthusiastic group stood and pretended to enjoy his company
Then they made their way up the hill without his wit

Making do with the index of smugness left over in themselves
The summer temps were not quite hot enough
And by the time the group returned Paul had a cold
Cough splutter and wheeze

It's home and a hot water bottle
And other false comforts, illusions of recovery

An expensive cigarette

 The tailor made was given to me
The twins didn't question
The mother made a joke
Ember too long
Smoke out the the window

Inhale exhale Like a road to a beach a community
Listen Like I'm deaf
smoke and smoke
Semi belong
Eye contact fits but words get in the way

The cigarette burns slowly
The huge window not taking enough of the smoke 
Therefore a haze is growing
Wealth and games between words
Another drag and coffee is prepared

Sarcasm can be enjoyed almost like a pun
In the cup or between sandwich loaf
Simple comfort can be replaced
By wealth and games

The candle factory

 The melted wax from the church is sent in a barrel
It is melted again and formed into new candles

Somehow blessed by the church they graced
And now in someone's house, a hope, a light

The flames that went out years ago
Await a match, a prayer, a dark night

Once borrowed the only new part the wick
To be burned down again holy wax dripping

Fishing expedition

 Seabirds fly into a towering tree on the coast 
They meet briefly in a cheerful gathering
Then scour the beach front for something dead

They use the wind and glide aimlessly
As if in leisure when infact whey are chasing their food
Eyes down on those tame little waves
On that narrow slice of beach

Seabirds fly monitoring the coast
Mocking and torpedoing
Circling again and again

Use the wind effortlessly
Enjoying the mission
hypnotized by the sun reflecting in the sea
Not far out from the sand

Tide leaves its remains on the darker patch
A dead silver fish stiffens in the heat
One bird identifies it

Shadows arriving 
Towering tree waits above shore
For the next cheerful gathering

Beaches up north

 The beaches up north are like that too you know
All of them full these forests that hug the shores
(They walk barefoot across the sand slowly veering from those incoming ankle waves)
Places we can take our music too

We can set up tents there and relax for a weekend right here on this beach
(The wife kicks the sand playfully, the husband is still numb from the week's work)
Of course there might be someone trying to charge us something to park the car
A fee for the entry as they do on those beaches up north

(The day continued exactly so, the wife talked about a potential camping trip there, and the husband stayed silent, hardly even aware of his surroundings. lost without his computer screen)

What you have today

 what you have 
a big plus from fate of things that don't necessarily fit
A trial of the will 
Lack smacked good

Yet you look at all that you have now in disdain
You don't see the value in it
You sit down, pour your drink and nostalgia on
Your personal package of comfort intact

The truths and realities are shun like beggers
Yet they are the jewels of your existance
And the convenient lies are the poverty
The blindfolds are mass produced

What you have is precious
Take from it everyday
Things that don't necessarily fit
Patience and care

Tourist ambush

 The gondola takes us down over the forested hills
To a small tourist village
The altitude is to conjure tacky nostalgia
A sense one is somewhere else
For we are so far away

Getting off and having anxious shopkeepers heckle
Their overpriced kitch
Their reasoning to why each item is so valuable
Stories int the form clues followed by facts

That repeat far into the day
until the personality becomes an outward tool
for promoting little argila nothings
Oversweetened treats

On exit the slight relief
For these false worlds stink of desperation