40 Passing through

Reading:

Passing through

A concrete tower block in Moorish style
Overlooks an oval swimming pool 
Bedecked with cone-shaped canopies
Made from woven palm leaves. Mock Tahitis. 
A hundred tables set for dining. Self-service tumult in the wait
For eggs and bacon and machine-made coffee. Most, including me,
Are anciani. Few come with family. Many are too fat
But show a tan that, coming from the north, one can but envy.

Beside the pool, which counts legally as ‘not indoors’,
Smokers are already on the job at sunrise hours.
Branded tee shirts are the latest fashion. 
Memento of some yacht race, Trans-Ocean 
From Australia, clings to an abdomen that’s never been to sea.
Another, on a cropped-haired man from somewhere else in Italy,
Boasts he’s graduated from a Texas university. 

Those who pay full board rate a poolside slot, 
While those like me, who only stay for the night
Are gifted sight of the parking lot. 
Notices with rules of do's and don’ts are plastered in the foyer.
One forbids the removal of towels from bathrooms
For use at the poolside. Another proscribes the return journey: 
Glasses from the poolside bar may not be taken to bedrooms. 
 
‘Co-operation is appreciated while improper behaviour may be reported 
To the management.’ This in Italian, English and to my surprise, Dutch. 
That abrasive tone of voice was to me the giveaway. It was guests
Who were being packaged, not their holiday. I felt a surge of scorn for such
Naiveté: for being suckered; for loving cheapskate South Sea Island kitsch;
For bogus claims of prowess in athletics or some phony academic pitch.

It was then that I recalled that scene at breakfast. 
Some poor palsied wretch was struggling to get up 
And make it to a wheelchair so that he could go. 
A Mexican wave swept the restaurant in sympathy. 
A dozen rose to help. Prego! Prego! Posso aiutarlo? 
Two strangers carried him most tenderly.
I still hear those kind, concerned Italian voices.
These were good people. Since infancy, an unrelenting torrent
Of advertisement had formed their to me, ‘bad taste’ choices. 
But while I stayed, I was part of that same setup too. 
And so to them, relishing this cut-price parody
Of high-life (wall-to-wall on everyone’s TV) 
I was just another punter passing through.