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Poetry Magnum Opus

memories in half tone


dedalus
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I love to bound around

the countries of Southeast Asia,

which are so perfectly,

weirdly, idiotically designed

for chase and concealment.

 

Maugham gets it exactly right

when he follows one of his colonial types

from harbour to harbour along the coast,

in the knowledge there is no ecape,

not now, not then, not ever,

 

as when you sit in a Chinese restaurant

on the ground floor, open to the weather;

the cook shambles over the poured concrete floor

wearing a stained white T-shirt and green baggy shorts,

bringing your beer in a glass of melting ice.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Stark realism, in verse. "There is no escape" could apply to so many things. Admire the stream of thought here. You are not as tightly wound as I am: lucky thee. :)

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Thanks, DC. This took me a long time to get just right and I'm still making microscopic changes, a word here or there, a comma.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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