In A Foreign Country At A Third Rate Hotel

It stinks; I know which food has been vomited-
some people call it junk food; others know that he is drunk
and is vomiting. Whatever happened, the food
has been burnt, about this nobody doubts or hesitate -

And I know about his well-being, he is overgrown:
He has been called an “animal.” Avoid him
with all your might, he will jump when he gets angry
and will kill even the chosen -

At this place there is a frightened antelope and some vomit
that is now stinking. Can you believe this! Go and pray
somewhere on your bed at night, even in cold fever,
return to your full senses; start playing your part,
dress in your suit and bow tie and fasten your shoelaces
and full of melancholy
follow
the interpreter.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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