Through a picture window in my corner office, a spectacular view of free spirits.
Trapped at my desk as I am, I watch four boys and a flock of white seagulls
make merry on the sleepy waves of the Kingston Harbour.
They paint a portrait of the existence that I yearn for, yet dare not live.
Those wild seagulls on the waves, and the urchins who share their space
rebuke my cowardice and lack of authenticity.
My quality of life demands that I strive to imprison myself in lucrative jobs.
To be poor is not my crime; and their freedom tells me so.