It is a super-yacht marina
Harbour Moon is berthed here
The Triasmapi company
Continually ferry to Formentera
How could he not
Have an iced Martini
Or a line of cocaine
Or something surely stronger
Yet there is no sign of a party
Nor of lunch being taken
In fact all is still, except
Another ferry departs
I remember Puerto Buenos
A Russian oligarch, and an
American, who made Kennedy’s
Wife into Jackie Onassis
They were as if in competition
Pulling in alongside each other
For the spit, for the polish, for the obsessions
To be fastidiously applied
