Departure

Girls in white shirts sip
on colorful drinks
on the wooden deck
over the street.
The people below
all obsessed with their watches
hang around for
a bit in the shade.
Kids collect seashells
pretending they’re gold
or a treasure
resupplied
by the waves,
and the fire
keeps burning centralized
on the beach
where an old man
feeds bark to the flame.
The plane tomorrow
won’t wait for me,
there in the rain,
while I rot in my hotel
pretending to sleep,
and I’ll get in the taxi
with all of my shit,
and the headlights
will melt through
the fog.