Poem: Tahiti | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine

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Poem: Tahiti



The silvered man sipped his single malt
Waved his cheroot and announced:

"Before I die, I will go to Tahiti
I will take with me
Two volumes of Conan Doyle
And one of Kenneth Patchen
I shall wear white khakis
And wade in the water
I will watch the sky and map it
Day and night
I will live on passionfruit
And drink from springs
Before I die."

I looked him in the cheroot:
"It could be that Conan Doyle
Will still hold mystery
That Patchen will still provoke
That your khakis will stay clean
That the sun will not blind you
That the moon will not addle you
That passionfruit will still taste sweet
Until you die
But sadly I'm afraid you'll find
Tahiti is not what it used to be."

—Andrew Joffe

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