In A Bottle

I found a message in a bottle, discarded by the tide.

Now it sits in my little bedsit, still unopened. You always did complain I was too safe, never doing anything I couldn’t undo.

But it’s not that I don’t dream.

That message could be a map to buried treasure, a thousand rent-cheques of gold doubloons.

Or maybe it’s a poem by some lost master, with the exact words that will bring you back.

Closed, it could be anything. Open, I’ll know exactly what it’s not.

I think you’d laugh at that, but still, it keeps me afloat. Bobbing along.