Swimming

Who said what to whom...or who...and when.

All the gossip, the fighting. People…You know, half of the rumours aren't even true.

Someone told me that this guy called Chico

Hit someone from Mullins round the back of the head with a bottle,

Later,

I found out that it wasn't a bottle,

It was an ashtray AND it was a different Chico.

It's all egos and games.

I just don't care.

Some people live for that

Tangled,

Interconnected web: shock, delight, denial, respect.

There is nothing wrong with Sunday lunch with gravy on roast potatoes

But I don't need this Network,

This net.

I don't want to get caught up in it, again.

You know,

Those cocktails

Those Hawaiian shirts

I was still high

Like, I was Flava Flav

Reality just vanishes,

Replaced with a new and better version.

Mickey fell sound asleep. Rob E Plant, played music.

I went to the beach

Swimming in my underwear. Sometimes I'd go on one of the boat excursions,

To the grottos or to see the dolphins. The tour guide would point out shapes

In the grotto walls: an elephant, an eye, a monkey.

Hundreds and thousands of people,

Hippies

Just passing through,

Others descendant of the original families who have lived here since even before

The times when slaves were bartered at the market by the Golden Church.

Outside the ancient city walls and twisted cork trees,

Stretching across to the praia and bright modern apartments,

Communities within the community-Brazilians, Africans, Germans, English,

Drinking café, cerveja, vinho.