Dave Lucas

It follows you everywhere,
I think, even this hillside
of mint and yellow gorse
on the far side of the sea,

In this day and age only a fool goes looking for the lost city. Drunks and suckers, or worse.

I would be Diogenes. Swing my lamp
through these dishonest days in search.
I myself have looked the known world
over and given everything a new name.

I cannot remember the last meal I shared with my father.
Only those long last nights slipping him what ice chips
he could still stomach and then swabbing his chapped lips
with a wetted pink sponge.

I had just taken her photograph.
Everyone else crowded on the back deck, 
talking, flirting, admiring the silver
of sunset in their drinks.