Bound to the mast, I stand with ears unplugged,
Eyes rolling in my skull, on sagging knees,
In the grip of a movement not the sea’s,
Brain-bleeding, mucous-snivelling man, mugged
By music from an island wild and rugged.
Those dissonances and those harmonies,
Those slamming doors, the gaolers’ jangling keys!
I cannot think. I am utterly fagged.

This was not in the holiday brochures.
I had been told it was a ferry ride,
The island famous for its scenic tours
And charming hotels by the harbourside.

This is some other person’s life, not mine.
Where is a refund or an exit sign?

.

Life is full of voyages and sometimes they are not at all what we were expecting. We are the actors and the audience and sometimes we watch on with horror as we act out the part we are given to play.

Current edit:

26 August 2015