Grey of hair

And moustache,

He would sit

Patiently

With the slow guest

Poring

The un- perspicuous

Phrase-book.

In his tiny kitchen.

 

In the aftermath of war

And plenitude

Of remnant explosives

He had come into possession

Of some hand grenades.

 

And desiring

To eat of more fish

Than a mere net

Afforded

Had chanced his arm

At the `stunning` method

Of piscatorial capture.

 

(Something

A faulty lever?

Malfunctioned)

 

And–on that occasion–

Instead of Gerasimos

Eating of the fish,

The fish

(To coin a Biblicalism)

Did eat of Gerasimos

 

Today,

A slashing motion

Of the right hand

Across the left forearm

Will point him out

At anytime

In little Gaios.

 

 

(part two of  `the Avra` an experiment to make a `traveloem` of a travelogue `wot I wrote`)