Gypsy

 Dirty, chlorine bleached feet

In damp flip-flops

Rise and fall like dancers

Along the beaten trail

A small row of people

Striving to grab hold

Of the end of the night

Smiles have grown weary

And backs are aching

Eyes have started to droop,

Forced wide as the headlights

Sweep their deadly glare

Across the shoulder

Hopes of consummation,

Drinks and sweet talk

Have all been lost in weary thoughts

But the memories lie

In shared glints and mindless chatter,

A touch on the shoulder,

Shared comradery

Clinging to the last few steps

Before dreams toss their hurricanes

Over rest