A trip to Wales
I was driving among hillocks; the landscape was green
it was spring and sheep-dipped in coal dust, grazed
with their offspring
Parked near a pub in a hamlet, it had a name
I could not get my tongue around it and enter
into a dark interior.
The few customers ignored me yet eyed me
perhaps they thought I was English looking to buy a cottage.
I drank powder coffee in a sea of Welshness
my foreignness disturbed me
and the locals.
I left.
What is life?
At this exact moment
Sitting in a hot crowded bus,
Headed somewhere absolutely meaningless to be in,
Yet feeling no sense of displacement for it.
What is life,
Wandering through unknown roads
Working with unknown people
Helping them in their strange endeavours
Yet feeling no sense of foreignness for it
Is life so meaningless
That doing things obviously meaningless
Doesn't give a feeling of
meaninglessness.
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