Spanish Holiday

The sun slipped into the cloudy envelope
and was posted; address tomorrow!

We sat on the hotel balcony,
I with my Spanish brandy
and ‘Linda Lovelace’ cigar.
You with your local
El paint stripper Rosé
that you Professed to adore.
We thought ourselves royalty!

We listened to the couple next door
And the gentle rocking
Of their bedsprings as they
Strove to consummate their love;
‘Oh John, John, Ohhh!’
‘Yes Mark, Mark, Ahhh!’
We blushed; puzzled!

The lovely surprise as the
Dulcet tones of an old Irish air
Wafted up from the bar below;
you shocked to hear it so far
from home, I stunned to hear
that the singer still clung to life.
Costa miracles!

How I danced around the apartment
When the red hot ash from
Linda’s plaything fell lazily
onto my unprotected jewels.
Your dimples, as you screwed up
your face at the smell of my
singeing pubes and Mark and Johns’
offer of some cream.
.
Some day we will return (with our respective partners)
and watch the Spanish sun rise over Fuengirola