New Year Day in Goa

Hot, humid air hits hard against winterwear
As we exit the airconditioned aircraft.
Cool, crowded chaos, collecting cases.
And there’s music, stringy music.

‘Welcome,’ smiles the porter, the taxi driver,
We mutter, utter irrelevant instructions.
Distracted by wet armpits, incongruous winter boots.
And there’s music, static radio music.

Tall refreshing drinks, small smiling receptionists,
Threadbare Christmas trees and a skinny skimpy Santa
Adorn the bar, that adorns the pool, that adorns our room.
And there’s music, promising music.

One hour later, showered, in flowered shorts,
Happy New Year, with Tequila shots
Cocktails, beer, prawns, bread, there’s lots.
And there’s music, sexy saxy music.

One week later, recharged, rewired, refreshed,
Tanned like a Cyprus day in May,
Pedro, my pal, the taxi driver, shakes my hand.
And I take home the music. Goan music!