Who Is A Prisoner Now - Poem by Oskar Hansen
My back yard has high walls and is like sun trap, I sit here and
get a tan in winters... the walls, cracked, need a lick of paint.
I can see a map of Europe, lakes, rivers and open plains
where wolves roam and hunt elk, and man shot wolves.
The map changes I now see the Caribbean and the Islands
dotted about. When I was on a small tank ship years ago I had
a chance to go ashore, visit and explore most of the Islands
.... mainly I fear, my interest was to meet lovely girls, of what
these Islands have many, and with a few of them swam in
crystal clear waters of innocence. I also had the sense to see
those pearls of Islands in early morning haze.
So many years ago, yet I remember Teresa, in Curacao, and that
is a great recall, as the Island itself is rather flat and has little
to offer of beauty, its only claim to fame is a big oil refinery and
the largest camp of prostitutes I have ever seen. Anyway the sun is
setting and shadows erase my map, time to go in and lit the fire,
but reminiscence of a time gone by lingers.
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