sempre Lisboa
By Coolhermit
- 652 reads
out of margarine
dry toast for breakfast
half a can of beans
instant coffee, black -
milk’s on the turn
I live alone -
since I blew it with Esther
and I like it better
I fell head over heels for her,
played it all wrong -
came on too strong
I believed her hot-breath
gushing affection -
was she genuine
or was she lying?
looking back I've no idea -
when it comes to bed and women
I'm rarely the wiser
I kept her postcards,
full of ‘miss you’ kisses,
love spoon, jar of honey -
(bought in Llandovery)
in a walnut cabinet
on the kitchen wall
over-time her tokens
lost the hold
they had on me,
I ate the honey
after toast and beans,
back to bed, duvet diving
surfing daytime television
a shudder
from the kitchen woke me -
the cabinet had broken free
a carpeting of shattered tea pots,
Chinese porcelain,
a Moroccan tagine,
(from a hawker in Lisbon)
vintage Belgian percolator,
champagne flutes and crystal vases
covered the quarry-tiled floor
amid the debris
a snapshot of Esther waving,
blowing a goodbye kiss, I guess
I left it in a ketchup puddle
from the T.V. - the coup de grâce
“had an accident that was not your fault?”
I picked up my passport
sponged it passable,
and flew to Portugal
fast forward three days;
I’m on a Lisbon terraço,
dining al fresco,
after anchoviella,
smoking a Cohiba
with a glass of Vinho do Douro
a trio plays fado
a ballet of jasmine
scents the breeze
a woman sings
a haunting song,
she tells the pain
of unrequited love,
it’s all about Esther,
the song of my life.
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Comments
Mate -Lisbon is an excellent idea -as is your poem,
most enjoyed the crash of the cabinet and the ketchup. Smashing.
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Hi Rick -tagines are replaceable - cast iron pots do it, and
they don't break :) I enjoy your storytelling poems. Cheers.
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