We woke to the sounds
of a man loudly pontificating
the merits of nuclear power.
His dull hacker’s cough
served as crude punctuation
as he extolled the ways
such a plant would surely
save this once proud shore town
from its present oblivion.
Look at us now, he said,
reduced to anecdotal references
in stories about the Great War –
we have become a poor joke.
She turned and in a whisper asked
if this lack of relative privacy
was to be expected. She abhorred
the concepts of shared bathrooms
and thin walls. Now the wafting
aromas of coffee and cigarettes
invaded our visitor’s bedroom
and I assured her that the charm
of such lodgings was in the
idiosyncrasy of such experience.
By our third day there
she learned to sleep through
the older guest’s morning sermons
and to prize this quaint seaside residence
for its abundance of personality
and rickety appeal, a quaint harbor
for vigorous debate in a foreign town
and for stories that would last a lifetime.