Had I been born
on the Coast of the Barbarians
(in my dreams it lies in West Africa
Gold Coast, nowadays Ghana)
the son of a Scottish pirate
and a slave child
maybe a prostitute
I would have been tall and thin
(like I am now, of course)
dark skin, blonde and kinky hair
strong arms
I would have lived at the forest brink
fought with the strongest
to rule them all
I would have tread muddy paths after the tempest
known magic
wondered at the South Cross
listened to rainbow birds
chirping among moss covered graves
Close to slaves loading spices
and drunken sailors
thinking of my father
robbing and sinking Spanish ships
on the other side of the ocean
Not happy enough
of hiding in remote corners
loving beautiful girls
dark/blonde (sometimes green eyed)
or night-black
with marble breasts and honey legs
wet with sweat and dew.