walkabout

if the last hot piss
had trickled down my thighs
some time, maybe days, before
and I'd stripped the sour chafing jeans
and my mouth was cracked and dry
and I found you in the desert
would you receive my kiss?

***

I set up a surreptitious tent
in the back garden
of a woman and her daughter
her daughter who dove
into a pool I could barely glimpse within, from without.
I hid but brought them jewels
to pacify in case they found me
trespassing.
There was a reason, something else I had to offer
and a cab, and I tried to remember which side of the road
and investors, people who would have made it all worth while,
but I had to return and fold up the grass mat or was it a futon
by now the morning was interrupting
and I was inventing characters, trying to make sense
return to oblivion, discover the secret
in fact there was tea, lovely tea, but
no way around the discovery of my shame.

****