Dream of the Intrusive Stoner

dream as poem, poem as dream

I'm down by the river
in Beaconsfield on a warm 
summer day. There are 

a few boats coming 
and going, and I'm wondering 
if I might get someone 

to pull me on my 
waterskis. I've waded out 
with them, hoping 

someone with a ski-boat 
will see me there and offer. 
A long-haired stoner 

dude floats up in a 
dinghy and says, "Do you 
wanna buy some weed?"

"No thanks," I say.
He becomes beligerent. 
"Why not?!" he says 

emphatically, 
almost angrily. "I just 
don't care to," I say.

"When was the last time you 
had some?" he says. "None of your 
fucking business," I say.

I wake up feeling agitated.

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