FIRST SIGHT OF THE PACIFIC

From the border through the Atacama desert
For mile upon underwhelming mile. Finally,
After passing through what looks like a valley of slag heaps,
Antafogasta appears, behind it, the Pacific.

From the bus, the city seems like a genial place
Sandwiched between hills and ocean. The architecture’s
Gentle, dinky two-storey houses made of wood, brick or
Corrugated iron. Tankers sleep in the stolen sea.

All this after a five AM start, seething geysers
In the searing cold, dipping toes in thermal waters;
Teeth chattering at trembling limbs about an azure,
Foam-specked lake. (Rounding off the vulcan colour-set.)

Crossing into Chile like jumping ship: the roads
Tarmaced, climate temperate, streets a haven of
Reserved tranquillity. In the supermarket,
We buy ham, cheese, bread; marvel at its ordered rows.

antofagasta 13.10.04