Kandy: At The Citadel Hotel

Like kingfishers alert and keen The waiters stand in mauve sarongs With cumber bands of white or green Ruled by the clang of dinner gongs Small gods with their almighty dollar Plump Europeans brandish tips Gone are the days of tie and collar These days its t-shirt package trips Firewalkers tread a trench of coals The flames leap skyward, red and stark To conch shells bellow, and drum rolls Like Satan's imps across the dark The guests applaud. The lightning rips The water bag that holds the night On honeymoon, ten grooms unzip Their whey-faced brides, and grip them tight This is their moment for romance Those newly-weds from Slough or Fife Before the treadmill of the kids The weekly shop. The mortgaged life The earth does shake in the monsoon Even for brides from Hull, or Troon.