Empty lager cans explained
the unconscious man in the Tropical Plant House.
He had wriggled under the leaves of monstera deliciosa;
feet at ten-to-two making handles to drag him out.
His breathing was shallow
so I placed him in the recovery position
and continued my tour of the Far East .
The snow in Inverleith Row said why
he had chosen a tropical climate to sleep-
it-off;
the hum of humidifier and drip-drip on leaves
carrying him to Bali,
dreaming under an umbrella.
It seemed quite logical that he might choose
not to come back; bizarre
that I might need to apply CPR.
