A ramshackle wooden pier
Leads over polluted warm water
Greasy with spilt engine oil
And teeming with the plastic rubbish
From yesterday's takeaways
Cast thoughtlessly over the side
The endless legacy of man
Who dull and uncomprehending
Of where he came from
Has an unhealthy addiction
Of throwing stones
Inside his own glasshouse.
The ramshackle wooden slats
Lead to a ramshackle wooden boat
And here I board
Via a swaying wooden plank
Along with a few Chinese,
Some Germans, and an old French couple.
It is very quiet for high season
Thankfully the boatman does not wait
For any more people
Who may wish to escape the polluted chaotic city
To a paradise island.
The big diesel splutters into life
Black smoke gushes forth
And off we chug
In search of clear seas
Tropical breezes
And white sandy shores.
No comments:
Post a Comment