Bali by Jetstar
At breakfast in the hosed down garden
trinket hucksters out of sight
pye dog slinks by in mange attire
piped gamelan uploads usual menu
dragonfly shadows swim length of pool
floated plates of golden lotus
high breasted silhouette
drifts of frangipani temple offerings
twin water buffalo plodding laps
conical hat steering our longer view
thigh deep in the warm coffee
of our stagnation.
At sundown we float
listless before the Cultural Show
just so many peanuts soaking
in poolside alcohol.
From our jungled verandah
bloated on Bintang and satays
hibiscus rosettes in our hair
we see on the resort courts
late night tennis
watch the hirers sweat; the corpse
of lyricism having been
already laid out beneath
an infinite afternoon.
Across a stony park...
over the little wall does she take time for those views of the sea
notice colours, sounds, smells which change every hour?
I’ve sat in the sun in her garden watched her stroll between rows
of arranged driftwood and coloured glass
cycling together down beach road I’ve got to know her odd socks
green for starboard, red for port, as she tells it
I’ve been shown into the back shed usually locked
withered flowers on the top of the little box
as gulls use sea breezes to keep just out of reach
I wonder does she take some time to look
across the stony park, over the little wall
at the moving sea?