You arrived where you set out to be
the architecture stretches out its cool, classic form
the smell of home sicknesses rises from cobbled streets
in the most beautiful places
the lights in windows flicker
from a passing train, which say
stranger, this is not your home
a glimpse of a double bed
drawing of blinds
deck chairs stacked like pyramids
the squalid secrets of used condoms
buried in the sand of a famous resort
when it is out of season
the hard edge of sky scrapers
throws shadows over the renaissance
the pimps who offer their sisters
so insolently sure the traveler has come for this.