Postcards from Ecuador

The end dear friend is just the entry and he pointed, but he never meant me, it was the old man sat inside me that the message was intended for.

I sat and wondered about the door and what was it the entry for and could it be he meant me after all?

Then the timepiece changed into a watchtower and it changed back on the hour, every hour

what tricks these eyes can play
what puzzles and to blind.

In the end I wouldn’t mind a new beginning
somewhere with a decent climate
and
slightly South of the equator
where I could do a baked
potato
on the rocks.

but don’t worry
they’ll twin you with a town up
in the Pyrenees
which
you’ll find out
will be full up with
the Chinese who’ll
be
making origami
chewing gum from
Sorghum and
reciting verses from a book
by …tse Tung

The end is just a fixture
another game we play
away.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.