A bowl of red apples with fresh water
sliding down their round cheeks
has just been placed in front of me.
The wooden table they’re sitting on is
warm from ocean sun. A stack of side
plates, decorated with calm, silver swirls
are waiting patiently for sea swimmers
to lift their light shoulders back aboard
for a snack. My back is soft. As soft as
the cushion it’s resting against. The radio
switches itself on in broken English:
Come in. US Navy War Ship approaching.
My spine is a lighthouse. The captain
sips Turkish sweet tea, smiles at his wife
chopping potatoes.

© Carl Burkitt 2023