Alfred and his dreams.

He was a little man, the kind
who pretended not to notice
people like you, and
the smirks behind your smiles.

When you came knocking,
banging on his door,
demanding payment.
A simple,
peaceful face awaited you.

He invited you inside
and sat you down,
to drink his tea.

Warm, and sweet.
Just the way you like it.
Behind his cup, his face
an unmoving surface.

And when you leave,
and he’s tightly
tucked in bed,

his eyes close and
this humble man
dreams of the waves.

When we turn away,
at night,
the wind breathes life
into the sea,

Behind his eyelids, ships
the size of your ego
sink.

Inside his frail balding head,
In the thunder and rain
layers of mud rise.

Attacking the sand,
dragging the beach away from us.
Drowning sand castles.

Like a baby rocked in his mothers arms,
this man is comforted, by the sea.