For the Waters

 

I came here
for the crystal clear waters
and the azure blue skies.

I guess I was misinformed.

For three days now
it has been raining:
a brown rain
like the oily teardrops
of the diseased seabirds
washed up on the beach.

A beach of powdered glass
next to a sea of bad acid.

Breakfast is a dismal affair.
No tea, coffee
that tastes like mud
("Well, it was ground
this morning, ha ha"),
no fruit juice
that has had more
than a passing acquaintance
with any kind of fruit.
Yogurt, watered down with...
it doesn't bear thinking about,
quite frankly.
The waiters
look like they've been
enlisted straight from prison;
the older ones
from death camps.

Today,
I shall not do
very much of anything;
probably lie down on my bunk
and marvel at how
The Big Bang Theory
sounds just as smug
and self-satisfied
in Albanian
as it does in English.

Things don't get going around here
until the sun sinks behind the Hellmouth.

Later on, there's an evening
of wine gum tasting
followed by a showing
of Paul Blart: Mall Cop*
in the candlelit canteen.
Souls in torment,
bringing home the Francis Bacon.

I am now ready to return
to what
I was trying to escape from.

B.R. 31/05/2019


* The director's cut, no less!