Jan Oskar Hansen | + Follow Poet |
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The Forever Tourist

The forever tourist
 
 He woke up at two o´clock in the morning
he had to take a train to the main city at four
his wife said the train didn´t run on Saturdays or Sundays
he ignored that she wanted to sleep a bit longer.
The main city was full of soldiers who spoke in a guttural tongue there was no place at the inn, 
but a porter found a sofa for him in the hall
where soldiers and whores came and left during the night.
Cigarette smoke and perfume was like a fog in the hall dancing to the tune of 
the activities in the rooms.
He got up early for breakfast then borrowed a pair of skis 
it had been snowing in in the night still was, big heavy flakes
fell silently covering the sinful life at the inn, in a blanket
of forgiveness.
As a high-ranking officer, he was going to a staff meeting
the enemy had occupied it and shot the guards defending 
the castle-like building.
In front of him a tall mountain he began climbing.
At the top, he could see the forever and a bit more and saw a beautiful valley with lakes and palm trees.
He skied down the mountain so fast he could not stop until
he fell into a lake of white wine and drank a mouthful
of the nectar.
The high-ranking officer had found his Paradise and to hell
with the war fought on the other side of the mountain.

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