A sunburnt old American by a castle, resting for awhile, begins 

Examining his map of Old Tappan while as a tourist touring the Isle of Man

He tears the map. He says "Enough of you

I must get up and see this precious view

I’ve got two more weeks of not-a-thing-to-do

The sun is shining like a bastard too."

He walks up to a crying boy who swelters in his corduroy

To him, as to himself, he asks "Are you okay?"

The answer comes at once and pulls the child away

He asks again "are you okay?"

But louder now, and with his head in sway

And yet again, but more subdued,

"Am I okay? Perhaps I've come unglued."

He plops himself down, he gathers scraps of map, he says "I turned, turning right up an exit ramp

We went barrelling north on the Palisades South. Our car banged back and forth like a bee in a mouth

Then quiet and still and her forehead was damp and a life had been pinched like the wick of a lamp

Not much of a thing to be miserable for. It's a wife, they made at least several more."

He'd come here for the lack of sun

For the grey and gloom; To forget someone

To be underwhelmed by local food

To stay too long and nurse a sullen mood

Now loud again, "No, I am not okay

For fourty years I had her every day

I’ve got two more weeks without a thing to do

The sun is shining like a bastard too."