Planted in the drudgery
of nine to five constant
the chains of pressure
stress my veins
till they stand out
from the skin
it’s then that I’d love
to go back again
that holiday by the ocean
a temporary citizen
of the maratime provinces
     living an Esquminac dream

I was a warf rat
lobster taster
sautéd in the scent
of fresh salt air
eating Atlantic Salmon
caught only the previous day
we regained our true selves
sitting around a glowing
North Rustico camp fire
having witnessed first hand
PEI’s red earth doctrine
beneath the deepest
of purple skys
its Brunswick haze
still surrounds
permiates my mind
beckoning me to return
     live an Esquminac dream

Sitting sky high
I gaze to the east
from my glass tower
surrounded by an ocean
of people
a voluntary prisoner
wrapped in mental chains
working hard for the title
of monetary man
how I’d rather be sitting
in the middle of nowhere
staring out at the metallic blue
I see in memory’s wide eye
remote as the dories
casting out their nets
hearts content
     living an Esquminac dream


© 1984
Inputted and revised © 2020

500 hits as of April 2024

08/12/2020

Posted on 08/12/2020
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti