Poem: people feasted on small plates of tapes, drank thinstemmed vessels of vi, smoked cigarrets, mirava el món…

An arcadia of imagination

The street watches itself. Pic: Paradisio Publishing

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the street

people drank coffee 

and feasted on small plates of tapes 

and people drank thinstemmed glasses of wine

and the sky above was a salmonpink and people

sat tables and smoked thin and fat smokers and

the sun was hot hot and the waiter brought out more

small plates of tapes and more wine and coffee to

imbibe and the streets were narrowed and cobbled walkways and there was a blue in the sky that was

aquamarine and people paid their bills in €s and 

walked off or they ordered slices of raspberry tart or

of

a walnutcrowned cheesecake or a slim vessel of 

warmed brandy or a white spirit local to this place

and people talked a language of the isles or Spanish or

English Italian French or Americanenglish or the languages of the Balkans, German, the whole gamut of tongues native to particular places and 

the day moved towards and beyond noon and the heat

was like an orange thing that got lodged in the eyes and face and arms and the afternoon brought on hours that oozed endless timeless and soporific

and the day seemed a far off proposition for far off people