Clamped together like refugees
on their own island.

Servicing.

To live in Krabi
and dote on in Railey.

A friendly wave met with glassy face.

On the waters we are all the same,
not players in that island game.

Where your withered hands, perpetually salty,
meet your primed smile.

A grimace laced with hardwon sugar,
on the rim of a margarita glass.

I like how the waters equalise us.

Flashpacker and smile-pusher,
become nomad and refugee.