Café Aphrodite

Do you remember?
Six a.m. on arrow-straight-
-to-the-beach-Makarios Street,
surly sun rising in Limassol,
Aphrodite’s Café less than beautiful:
drinking beer from a teapot
and mismatched mugs.

Aristotle brought the breakfasts,
sat down with us and recalled
six months with a friendly girl
in Sydney Harbour, after
jumping ship from his
namesake's tanker. Had
the time of his life
until the money ran out.

Do you remember?
Ari – sixty at least- grizzled
and grease-spattered, nicotine
fingered, with the eye of Paris
dreaming under the heavy brow;
remembering a half-year of love
on the other side of the world.