Cycle holiday
Heysham to Hull
cycle sixty miles
realising I’m red in
the campsite mirror
whole side of my face
Hull Rotterdam ferry
bunch of us cyclists
trying to find our way
out of the dock
Dutchman
long black hair
exploded hot damn!
in an American accent
make it to Amsterdam
tunnel under the river
campsite night
guitar strum
there is a
house
Stedelijk
oh my god!
American shouts
entering the room
full of Sunflowers
Kroller Muller amid sand dunes
many Gauguins from Moscow
street corner Yaqui sorcerer
in swivel paperpack stand
south now towards Liege
halfway up a huge hill
stopping in a bar
order Stella
guided into Brussels and
deposited in a back garden by
two anonymous boys on bicycles
standing in Paris by a fountain
this priest comes up to me
starts talking in French
says he thought
I must be
French
I’m in a campsite
in out from Robinson
the long empty platform
look at Paris from the train
alone walking around
empty suburbs of
Impressionists
the day I went to Versailles
sort of lost along the edge
of the dual carriageway
small insignificant speck
can drift anywhere