You Want To Go To Spain Poem by Gert Strydom

You want to go to Spain
and next to the Mediterranean
buy a villa
and stay in a big old house
with balcony windows.

You want to sit at a cafe
in the street
and paint paintings
of the scene around you
and sell them right there

and get lunch at a small table
with French bread, cheese
and a bottle of sweet wine
and look at how friendly
the sun shines there

and late in the afternoon
you want to take siesta
and for a time
go and lie on a big old bed
under fans
or against the hillock
walk in fields
of purple lavender,

but the language there is foreign
and I wonder what more
and how a person fits
into such a place
between people
with a different culture?