Hangover

When he got off the cab by the fire station,
he didn't sway like a boat bobbing on the waters of a pier
as he stepped onto the concrete sidewalk
from the black asphalt-covered pavement.

There were no crags dotting a grey-blue sea
in a horizon where their colors change from black to blue.
Instead, rising high in glossy finish,
sunlight bouncing back from glass and metals,

are skycrapers filling up his eyes.
In the middle of the concrete lanes were palm trees
reminding him of beaches and kayaks. But here the sky
is like a trash bin full of used tissue paper,

the ground stiff underneath his feet
still remembering the soft crushed corals.
Like a rolling wave about to break on the beach
his paper work piled up on his desk.