future self portrait
This morning with sunbaked torso, Ahmed, in blue swimshorts on matching blue and white striped sunbed, breathing leafy island air, listening, whisper of palm fronds, clicks of geckos, eyes half-closed, not thinking, Ahmed, truly a man in the moment, he lies this way, then, propping himself up on plump turquoise pillow, observes horizon, visible through tunnel of magoo bush, pillowy enamel cumulus, distant island flecked with green, water like glass with blue to green gradient, winking in mid-morning sun, mesmerising Ahmed, bewitching him, inhaling again, deeply, sweet island musk, running right hand over distended belly and scratching his groin, thinking, involuntarily, of his youth, how bright that world, light-drenched, teeming with possibility. Today, on this bed, Ahmed, in upscale resort, champagne on his right, on endtable, none of which he can afford, Ahmed, third-rate writer, never published abroad, Ahmed, losing his calm amidst growing thicket of prickly thoughts, breathing sharp and shallow, now reaching for champagne, lifting it up by its neck, taking deep swig, Ahmed, writer, aged 40, published locally, deepening swigs.
when in doubt, whisper non sequiturs.
Last edited by chippedmonk; 04-24-2018 at 12:16 AM..