By BernardYoung

Three Dreams

A man in a suit sits on the bed.
A businessman? A politician?
A Headmaster?
He has meetings to go to.
He speaks to me
but not to you.
I guess you’re feeling excluded.
A woman ignored.
You grimace
and then pull a funny face,
for me, not him, to see.
I laugh.
He leaves.
‘Good riddance,’ you say.
What a warm night.
Are we on holiday?
Is this a holiday apartment?
On a balcony, to our left
people are holding drinks,
talking.  Working? Partying?
Is that frolicking in the swimming pool
we can hear?
Music starts.
So this is when the noise begins,
I think, or say.
Will we be able to sleep ?
We’re in a café.
Is it a café? It’s more
like a pre-war hardware store.
It has wifi.
We’ve been told everything is free
so I want to order
champagne and caviar
but you say
we should stick to the soup of the day
and not take advantage.
When the soup arrives
four black and white cows
the size of flies
are swimming in it.

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