The Tourist’s Last Day – the Sounds of Harris

Geoff writes a poem for the tourist.


2015-06-27 16.55.57 The Ultimate Tourist’s Trinket

As we waited for the ferry back across the Sound of Harris, I browsed a gift shop. Would the Hebrides be different from other holiday destinations? The Textiliste had bought yarn. Could I resist the lure of one final memento? Was my choice a subliminal reaction to our upcoming ferry crossing?

In gift shops around the world, the treasures there are legion:

Name tags, mugs, flags unfurled, they all define the region.

Many things you’re sure to find, when tourists begin to roam,

With cash in hand and half a mind, to buy something to take home. 

Like, let’s say, the local booze, which tastes so good, and’s duty-free

It would be churlish to refuse, to take a bottle home, or three.

There will be somewhere, on a rack, in sets of square-shaped plastic

Examples of  local musak, that sun drenched ears believe fantastic.

The Hebrides conforms…

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