Image: Vincent Bourilhon
Are you dreaming Mister?
“I’d like to be, under the sea.”
But I’m not am I.
“In an octopus’ garden in the shade,”
But I’m not am I!
No, I’m stuck here miles up in the air
A bunch of balloons holding me up
In a car that should be in the wreckers
And if not then in a museum.
Life’s a friggin’ joke some days
When I should be soaring with eagles
I’m running round with a bunch of turkeys.
I long for a moment or two when we can
Sail through the blue beyond
Watch the coral, the fishes, the fascination
Of an ocean world, we’ve dreamed about so long.
But instead, we are prone to the whims of the atmosphere
Buffered about in air pockets we have no control over.
You said it wouldn’t matter how rich or poor I am
You said it’s the man you were most attracted to
But this boy is air sick, longing for the feel of the earth
The car seats are hard, my bum hurts like crazy
But still, the flight goes on,
When will the balloons burst?
The plunge to earth will be exhilarating
Maybe then we’ll fall into the sea
I’ll be able to, “ ask my friends to come and see
An octopus’ garden with me.”
But that’s all wishful thinking, even though
“I’d like to be under the sea
In an octopus’ garden in the shade.”
The old Ford Anglia putts off into the distance
The octopus’ garden a figmentation of my imaginative.
At least the balloons are colourful,
The on board bar filled to overflowing
Enough to drown my sorrows
Create a few new dreams
Of girls, small dogs and poems on a wall.
“We would be warm below the storm
In our little hideaway beneath the waves.”
Dream on mister, it’s a good fantasy
You just never know.