Distant Memory Poem by chris dawson

Bhut bhut bhut bhut bhut,

the water taxi's here,

its nodding, smiley pilot

gestures to a chair.

All aboard and crammed in tight,

a small boy casts away,

we set sail down the Ganges,

as a sunset guides the way.

The gentle, balmy evening breeze

inspires a tender glide,

as turds and cans and body parts

are softly brushed aside.

Canvas flaps above our heads,

the only other sound

is the bhut bhut bhut bhut bhut bhut bhut

from the man who took our pound.