I was standing in the dark harbour car park
waiting on a lift and I saw the lights of the town,
radiating - foreign boats floated in pools of liquid gold.
I could see the buoy lights out to sea, I'd been taught not to urge
for green lights or any coloured lights for that matter because
they shone for sailors and they did not shine for me.
The night was vibrant to the open eye. Pulling out beside me
was a four-seater saloon, with headlamps which searched forward
into the black; a silent family sat in the darkness of its leather interior.
Across the road, following a torch beam,
a young man and woman walked reluctantly forward
and smiled as they stole glimpses of each other,
illumed for just seconds.
A second of a flat-soled shoe, a second of battered sneakers -
Oh God how they longed for more.
"Get in, get in," my ride had arrived, "where are we going?"
I looked for my driver, a friend for ages.
"Somewhere we can see our hands in front of our faces."
We smiled for a moment, "The chippie it is."
by Joshua Bougourd