Poem inspired by Acapulco
Around the bay, with the brightness of beach-huts,
the tower blocks gather to the contemplation of blue;
the white table and chair are waiting for the man
in a garish shirt and the knobbliest of knees
whose serious aim is pleasure and the sensation of sun
as the heat of the day is turned up.
But the question remains: will that pelican,
in its flat-footed fashion, get there first,
establish a bridgehead and order drinks,
usurping the seat of the languid tourist
who – just at that moment – is stepping from the bus,
his viewfinder getting in the way of the view?