Memories of Xanthi

Xanthi's Old Town was alive with people
Milling noisily hither and thither;
A myriad little wayside cafes
Swarming with life and colour and bustle.

A taxi hooted angrily, children played in the dust,
A passing pony pooped pastorally
On the not-so-pristine pavement.
A stray cat squawked hungrily. Or was it a feline burp?

Until a few moments ago I was sitting happily,
Demolishing my second triple Metaxa (seven stars),
Staring meaningfully into the blue eyes,
Of the gorgeous German goddess I had just picked up.

And then total fucking disaster struck,
Like a dagger cutting through the virgin flesh
Of an unwary Christian accosted by
A bad-tempered Roman gladiator in days of yore.

And now, dementedly I am rushing headlong
In the direction of my hotel, convulsed in agony
By hideous abdominal contractions,
The result of an unwise meal at a taverna.

Oh dear gods, please let me get up those stairs
And into that little tiled sanctuary soon,
Or else I shall require a major change of underwear
And my present panties will need to be incinerated.

In addition to which my manly suntanned thighs
Will need to be hosed down repeatedly
And the German bird will need a clothes peg
On her nose before we bonk frantically.