To laugh at the clumsy-worded tourist is easy:
working turns of phrase that twist the grace of travel,
he may let on that he is host; the host, guest.
In the stone amphitheatre on Mount Parnassus
he moves to centre-stage and begins to recite.
To the topmost row of seats,
to the swallows foraging the air for insects,
to the valley spilling olive trees
down to the Gulf of Corinth
where ships of every flag pass unheard,
he intones from memory the opening to
the Constitution of the United States of America.
But do not laugh: for he is testing
not whether the acoustics, but the words, ring true.
1995
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