It is a cold day but the fat boy sweats,
Giggling his jowls to bouncing blubber,
Cunning, prodding stubby fingers
In the joint behind the knee,
Grabs locket-twists of gilded hair.
His feverish pink and freckled skin
Jolts against me like the noise.
Uneasily, I stir:
The sealed bus enfolds us
In its velocity and spaces,
Far from the silvered sea.
Crump beside the dunes.
All along the shore gulls view
Perspectives on infinity.