Here we have our last meeting
before the summer hols,
before we tramp along the beach
bouncing little balls.
We will scatter like the four winds
to our favourite stomping grounds,
some to glass pyramids overlooking sandy seas,
others to where four walls surround.
But for some the measure of writing
will follow their retreat,
they will lock themselves away
from the hustle of passing feet.
For Cliff the space ways
and the erotic future hoards.
For Jim the satirical life
and magical mystery tour, it boards.
As for Eileen, she’ll just rest instead
with instant agents buzzing around her head.
Alas, there is me with my ten words an hour,
the unlucky one who gets wet after the shower.
Have a nice break one and all
and see you in September
after the summer hols.
Date unknown. (It was late 1970s or early 1980s)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem