Middle Of Nowhere

Message in a Bottle

Sprawled on the salt pan, static,
the outline of a man, thin
black sunshadow defines
flesh against sand.

Black buzzards circle high
on muscular thermals, dry
cries echo from cracked rock hot
enough to fry an egg.

Certainly it is a man, he
raises his head slowly, eyes
open from the ant’s view
the heat haze shimmers.

In the air, black, arriving,
a low hum, flickering beat,
four pitches overlaid, rotors
sweeping in harmony.

It lands, softly, flicks
spits of sand in his eye,
like a faithful dog, expectantly
drops a bottle by his nose.

He laughs, if he can, and thanks
the mechanical beast (no need),
unscrews the hot formed top,
lips puckered to receive.

The dry parchment slides without
effort, catches his lips, a paper cut,
deep, stinging with salty saliva,
‘rescue me’.