A Tourist Second Class Poem by Colin Coplin

My bridges still burn, like candles, they flicker, now far behind me
My eyes and my ears, like windows, are opened to let in fresh new air
My mind snapped it reins, it’s no longer driven, by blindness
Yet I fear what’s become, there’s no place to run, I am there.

I look at reflections, in the Deusche Museum, of tomorrows now long since past
I sleep in the hostels, pensions and railroads, feeling as fragile as glass
I travel the subways, footpaths, from country to country, I’m a tourist second class
Yet I sit back and think, on what could have been, if war had not crossed our paths

Sending postcards occasionally
There’s so much to say
It’s easier to phone
Meeting new people, new loves, new reasons for living, new pride in my being
I’m never alone
Never reading the papers, TV’s a luxury
I’m free yet chained to the politics of the world
I’m not in a dream, I’m traveling, feeling, seeing
I’m a tourist second class

I gaze up in wonder at the Eiffel Tower, Versailles and the beauty in the Louvre Museum
I walk by the Thames, Stonehenge, The British Museum and fell asleep in Trafalgar Square
The fjords of Sweden, Norway and Trondhiem, I fell in love with Monica there
From Hamburg, to Munich and then on to Zurich, getting drunk with what was in the air

Standing like a god on Olympus, Mycenae, the Acropolis and everywhere with June and Anne
Shed a tear in the Sistine, heard the lions and Christians still scream in a rotting Coliseum
Walked the Canals of Venice, bought a new pair of jeans and danced all night in San Marco’s Square
Then on to Vienna, the Choir, the woods and the world of old masters still living there

Sending postcards occasionally
There’s so much to say
It’s easier to phone
Meeting new people, new loves, new reasons for living, new pride in my being
I’m never alone
Never reading the papers, TV’s a luxury
I’m free yet chained to the politics of the world
I’m not in a dream, I’m traveling, feeling, seeing
I’m a tourist second class

Copyright Colin Coplin 1979