The brave soldier

Had an accident when parachuting
in Afghanistan,
ended up in a wheelchair he did.
He became a writer instead.
He was lucky to have a wife who helped him
when the going got tough.
Tragedy struck his wife got Alzheimer
sent to a nursing home, he could not cope
The poet struggled alone
he lives in a friendly country like Denmark.
Two nurses come, help him every day
to do the chores.
He is free to write. wonderful poems
but he pines for his wife, the night is long
as he waits for dawn.

they called him excellency and a name I forgot.
As it turns out my wife´s brother was his book-keeper
a profession where the person knows a lot of secrets.
The meeting will be conducted in French.
I, thinking of Galloway calling Saddam Hussein
his excellency, must not chuckle.
Since we didn´t know what to serve him, we bought
a bottle of whiskey I had a taste and got instantly ill
the strong drink doesn´t behove me well.
She hopes he will pay for the patient´s stay with
us and the hospital bill.
I think the meeting will go well if I sit still and call
him your excellency without giggling.

Dawn´s sky


Dawn, the sky is lit up by the unseen sun
clouds from the ocean were coming in they looked rain heavy
not a sound broke the stillness.
This was the last day of the year and he was still here on the terrace
able to see the birth of a new day and he was privileged
the world had given him a gift.
The night had been restless and fearful, the thought of his death
had disturbed him, no point resisting the oncoming it was futile
he had said to himself and the dark night.
He felt a chill the rain was coming in faster than he had thought
He got inside, made a coffee and warmed food from yesterday
Feeling good he had always been frugal it was his way

The princess

I don't understand the British
when Diana died the county went into an unseemly
mourning a mass hysteria of grief.
She was divorced for a little **** called Charles
they had two sons who are both going bald.
I didn't think much of her going on holidays living
The kids at home, if a working-class mother had
done this the social people would have knocked
on the door.
Diana took up living with an Arab and Charles
married a horse, hadn't she died she would
by now giving hampers to the wealthy at Christmas.
And no one would have called her
a people’s princess.

Echo

For those who are dead
the planet does not exist.
must we assume
life on a lone planet does not  occur
but is it a dream?

Writers and poets
think they are immortal
by ink and pen.
But everything ever written
will rot as autumn leaves do.


Heat cracks the phone pole
lost voices turn to tears,
but dries in the sun.
White streaks of intense longings
a lover´s word goes unheard

fortuitous

A tiny ant was crossing the kitchen table
I was going to squash it with my thumb,
Hesitated, I thought to let it pass first then **** it.
I was distracted something my wife said
When I looked back on the table, the ant had disappeared.
Our life is like this, say; you set sail at sunset
Then you have to turn back the dog is at home
The boat is fastened you walk home
And since it is dark decide to sail in
The morning. In the night a storm blows hard
the ship is smashed into winter wood.
Just a fluke you might say, or was it?

the colour barrier

There is shooting every day in Chicago
many get killed by stray bullets shattered windows
but there are no headlines screaming
about these senseless crimes.
The gun-slingers are mostly black, and it appears
the police have given up patrolling a particular district
where the majority are dark.
we get headlines about murderous white men
and that is OK, as they fit the new narrative that
white is terrible; after all, they invaded America
and made it a powerful nation.

Autumn light

Softly they walk on a day in October
The old man and sunlight among olive trees
Planted when his grandfather was young.

On the track hove marks from sheep
That walk here daily on the way home
After grazing upland.

Bits of fleece on thorny bushes
Black pellets and the pungent aroma
Of the woolly-backed still lingers.

He sees the old cottage, warped roof
And bushes grow through the floor
He doesn’t stop; it was all so long ago.

Light is fading time, to leave for him
Autumn evening evenings can be chilly
Not so good for his chest.

Spyware

It was no surprise reading Israel run this practice
and sell it to anyone with money to pay.
Israel, this enclave in an Arabic world, is an anomaly
its inhabitant lives in a bubble they call democracy.
It brokers no criticism, not even in its mildest form
and calls people who they find disagreeable:  
antisemitic or haters.
They picked up a golden nugget called victimhood
to the point, they believe the whole world hates them.
Israel is not a victim but a ferociously aggressive state
what will never give up its shabby mentality,
But it can be remedied if other countries stop all trade
with land, whose psyche needs an adjustment.

Weekdays

I like Mondays
it starts hopefully
Tuesdays
are a setback
then it goes
downhill
all the way
to ****** Sunday
with nothing to do

In ancient time

The ninety seventies are up in patina, a yellowish colour
of the ancient when I was young; and for me, it is still
not far away and remembered as a good time, mainly
because I was busy finding my feet
In the interim 50 years, much has changed, now is not
a good time to be young, the world has aged badly.
1970, the last man guillotined in France, but thousands
have died in civil wars at the hands of war machines.
The attention span is lower now than before, atrocities
like the Iraq war is forgotten, even Libya reduced
to a failed state is in the limbo of being in the past, future
and the ever-present now.
We are blasted with news that rolls so fast we have no
chance to take it, is the leaders want, you must not think
to see through their lies, lest you should disagree.

The pursuers


Under the celestial awing
there are degrees of darkness
stygian and silky night-blue.
Secret light seeps out of hurts
soon absorbed by night´s hue.
By the quay, lovers watch the light
Commit suicide in dark waters.
Night prowlers with knives
killing someone with a passion
and bath in blood at midnight.

Vaccination

I have had my second shot of the vaccine
but with some trepidation, it appears many professional people
refuse to be vaccinated.
Many say it is out of principle or a religious reason
our cleaner, who is in the Jehovah witness, refuses out of religious grounds.
I bet the cleric in the protestant church where the first
to be inoculated, because they do not believe in anything
and lives in perpetual dread of death.
Like some doctors who see their patient die, but not them,
So, they fly in small planes they are not trained for.
When the plane falls from the sky
They say “why me I´m a doctor?”

Travel beyond the galaxy

When I can’t sleep at night
I close my eyes and see a myriad of stars
Some are red but mostly blue.
If I continue my odyssey through the galaxy
The star becomes rarer and further
Away from space where nothing stirs.
I’m looking into eternity it’s is cold and unfeeling
Travel through this vast space
I fear the vacuum, a ghostly immobility
Where nothing matters, never will.

The demise
When someone dies
It is sad
However, when someone near us dies
We sit up and reflects
Upon lives fragility.
The good thing is he didn’t
Struggle
However, fell asleep at the hospital
In the night.
Silent and without fuzz.
My brother had many children
I didn’t
knew them well
he was my brother’s son
I miss them both.

Revenge of sort

The old ship has four cranes for loading
Also, unlading has anchored in
the bay
For four days.
It must be hot all portholes are open and the cook
Sweats in the galley it drips onto the dough
Moreover, into the food, cooks transpire a lot and it
Has to go somewhere.
They call him a fool but eat his sweat a sweet
Revenge a secret he keeps to himself.
The crew pick rust and paint a little but most
Of the time they sit in the mess hall waiting for
Something to eat.
Dinner is served, the cook wash pots and pan
Goes into his cabin lays down on the couch the one
Under the porthole, and sleeps till it is time
To prepare the evening meal.

Sic Transit Gloria

When I saw a picture of him
I remembered
Well suited,
hair combed back
Business like
He was smoking a cigar.
He had a heart attack
Greatly humbled
He left the hospital
No more cigars
No more whisky
Lost his hair
Friends gone.
He is old now
Spend much time
In his pyjamas
Amble to the shop
Buying goat milk
Sic Transit Mundo.

political
social-democracy is a dressed-up capitalism
And you can’t have it both ways.
Sooner or later capitalism will take over
By transferring the utilities to private hands

Water is a human right issue so is access
To see unhindered the wonder of nature.

Socialism is about sharing recourses
Capitalism is by taking it and selling it for profit
The two beliefs cannot mix as human greed
Takes over if unchecked

Madness
Stood by the window, saw a man with a cane, walking
down the road, I waited for him to return waited all day long
till I was so hungry that I rushed into the kitchen
grabbed an apple and continued my vigil waiting for
the man with a cane to return. Darkness comes the road has
no light I had a flashlight to lit up part of the road  
should I hear some noise? Two in the morning I heard him
he looked startled in the flashlight, this was the moment when I knew
I was truly mad.

Down the dumps

Fog everywhere, walking on a mass of corpses
sludge of rotting flesh, sinks deeper into arms and legs
embracing me like I should be one of them.
Swam ashore in the lake of loss, soup of death
banks of bones.
A woman in white helped me up; she too
a haze and disappeared.
Totter in a desert of nothingness, heard footsteps
death wanted me to return to the lagoon of
reconstructed dreams.
Heart pounding, but there, the horizon’s dawn
the sun of life warmed my face if only briefly.
The sky rained the blood of the evicted.
Drops of rubies, in each one, the nucleus of me
lies and delusion engraved.

Meeting an old girlfriend

I met an old girlfriend from the days when we were
in our fifties, it had been a tempestuous affair.
Since she was not driving any more, I drove her home
to her house.
She invited me in for a coffee and before we knew it
the *** urge was back, she put a leg on a chair and leaned
forward over the oak table, her body shook when she
I had an ******.
We went to bed I was taking her from the side, and we giggled
about who was moving first, she did, and we were at it again.
She screamed when she had an ****** and exhausted fell
Asleep snoring softly looking eighty.
Since I had no hot water at home, I took a hot shower
in her bath, dressed ready to go but looked in her bedroom
to see if she was ok.
I wanted to go home and write something I had been thinking of
Next day at the supermarket, a woman approached me and said:
do you know who is dead? She said her name.
I said: *** at her age how awful.
They found a man’s underwear in the bed. and I hoped it was clean
since it was mine.
Now I could understand why she had not been ringing me
as she had promised.

Australia

When I first came to Australia
it reminded me of a colonial outpost.
The officials were pompous and behaved
like little Englanders.
I thoroughly disliked the country, it didn't
help it was so far from civilisation
I was thinking of Europe pubs closed early
and beer was served in small glasses.
There was not much of nightlife I think
the whole nation went to bed at nine
in the evening.
Of course, this has changed now the country
It is modern and the people well educated,
alas, this does not include the political class
who do not appear independent of USA
and align their politics with that country.
Young Australia are getting restless
they want to change.
A quiet revolution is needed and better
care of nature is also on the agenda.
Despite this Australia in my mind, is a boring
And the last place I will wish to go.

Mock Poem

A man I knew who lived in Vilamoura which is a ******
Replica of a real Portuguese Village, decide to walk
The whole length of the land, he came upon an old
a village so aged that houses collapsed by too many years.
A few people belonging to a sect didn’t move.
No, they were not Jehovah witnesses who prefer ringing
On people’s doorbell at Tv time.
They were ****** people convinced the world was
Coming to an end and it was their duty to be the first to go.
And find a roomy place in heaven.
Intrigued by the steadfastness of their faith he bought
A cabin and had a toilet and shower installed.
It was a mistake the dwellers thought bathing was a sin
set fire to his cabin, nothing for it to resume his walks.

A mystic death

Stormy weather ship on fire
the captain gave orders
go into the lifeboats.

The cook thought otherwise
there was no fire at the bow
the bow's deck a room where
the potatoes were kept.

Later he heard noises the captain
and his first officer came in.
Cowards as they had been, they
Resented him.

The captain had a gun
and shot the cook dead,
threw him overboard.

A tugboat came towed the ship
to the shore, as planes scanned
the sea, no life except for the one.
A helicopter got the body up,
a cook with a hole in his head.

The weight
He had written two short books
Wanted to show her, his work,
Not now she said, I’m watching telly.
Around the beam that keeps the heaven’s roof from falling down,
He slung a rope fastened to a scrap iron drum using
Himself as a counterweight.
He hoisted the drum up, but he was too heavy
He carried too much weight of pride.
He cried in the night struggled to get rid of unwanted feelings
The drum becomes lighter, descended until
He was lifted to the top of the beam feeling free
Of false pride and ambition.
Why did you cry so much in the night? He was asked.
He smiled, was at ease with himself, but didn’t answer.

They **** children too

A hum of silence met me
Dead babies everywhere like dolls on a filthy carpet.
A lone soldier guarded the scene
He looked stunned and dazed and said, we had to do it
They are the enemies of tomorrow.
A man in a protective suit and mask came spraying
White snow like power covering the scene.
Cheer up, he said, comfortable for you to say, said the soldier
You didn’t have to make the killing.
****** fluid ran out of me, covered the bedroom floor
An ice-rink of sin.
I was drowning but how to swim in this torrent
Of sweat coming out of every pore.
A shot the soldier shot himself after the deed life was meaningless.
The man in the protective suit and mask giggled and said
He was not strong enough couldn’t see he was doing his duty.
Children are our enemy and if allowed to live would come
And **** us in the future.
Lethargy and helplessness.
My inaction had condemned me for all time.
Morning.
A has of devastation stopped the sun from shining it refused
To lit up death, and forever we had to struggle in a fog of depravity.

When the mind speaks

Poetry immensely personal I hide behind
storytelling not talking about my feelings
but the sensibility of others.
What happens have nothing to do with me the onlooker
the observer, like an architect surveying a building
and finding the house wrongly designed.
I don’t mind if the building has doors and windows
and are watertight I gladly move in, love is
another country as passion is an ember of an ancient fire.
You say I’m a liar who tells the truth using the passage
of time as my mentor.
“once upon a time there was cobbler…” there is not
a cobbler but someone else timeless as history
written by those who weren’t there.
My writing mundane I like a forest if they are not
so big I can’t find my way out
Sometimes it happens and breathes of death comes
into my mind upsetting the delicate balance
between life and no life.
I’m not an intellectual reading a book as a pensum
to an exam, there will be no trail of titles
when I have gone.
I like flowers, but dislike flowery poems I find them
artificial, as Gertrude Stein said,”
A rose is a rose.”
But of course, a rose signifies much more.
While not waiting Godot, I will write some more lies
as long as I can.

Old animals

When my dog got old, she liked to sit
Beside me on the sofa when I watched Tv.
If I turned the volume up, she grumbled
it disturbed her snoozing.
She became contemplative, apparently
in deep thoughts.
Does a dog know that life is not unlimited?
Can a dog dream of the past how fun it was?
chasing rabbits in the wood.
Or does a dog only live in the now?
Some dog owners put their elderly dogs down
saying they will not see their pets suffer.
Balderdash, they do this because an old dog
is no longer playful and attractive.
Old dogs need more help to get up on the sofa
and are, sometimes,
incontinent.
Get a puppy, oh, so charming happy children
running in the grass.

Power play and roses

The USA has a pinball machine rigged in their favour
And pin by pin the countries in the middle- America fall
One by one the collapse when they try playing just
Against those who have stolen the mafia’s textbook.

I wonder why we high have regards for liars they are
Nothing But a soul that thinks we are expendable garbage.

Revolves around the dancefloor under candlelight
Over glasses of whisky whisper satanic conspiracies
Shiny bejewelled wives are a mere decoration
Evil men are lovers in an unbroken circle of power.

The starving masses

We should welcome those who flee from
tyranny, **** and ****** with open arms
it is our human duty to do so.
We must accept Islam as a religion equal.
To ours and put the same restrictions on it regarding demonstrating their faith.
in public, worship should be done in synagogues
churches and mosques.
Our culture will not be threatened if we
respect and people of other colour and faiths,
we will instead expand our understanding, and it will enrich us greatly.

Half a life
To be fifty was a difficult time
the youthful dreams didn't materialize
the road to Rome ended
on the factory floor or no promotion
to the board of decisions, and your words
went unheard.
You look behind you the furrow you had
wanted to leave, is none existing.
A deep sigh, time to get the pick-ax and
continues to break stones, pay taxes, bills
and watch TV. About the successful, those
the few lucky once who had the right
connections, free ride on your back to
the top of the pyramid.

The Roma

I can’t stop thinking of the Roma people
There are many of them in Algarve,
Horse and cart to the annoyance of car drivers.
Horse manure their only pollution.

When a bank goes belly up, you can’t sue them
For misusing your deposit.

When all aeroplanes have stopped flying and
Cars are rusting by the roadside, and there are no donkeys
To plough the fields, the Roma people will continue
Their journey towards the sunset.

The killing of a nation



Women’s right is at a crossroad, the right to education

work for a corporation sitting at the table of decision making

that is useful for business but not unsafe for people.

They are conned we all have conned into

thinking this is the future.



The highest accolade a person can win is to give birth

to new life and bring them up to be sound

and kind member of the society, only a woman can do this

but many of them have forsaken what is important in life

New life.



Every woman in Europe should have five offspring

or the civilization we live in will die out.

Instead, we vilify single mothers for giving birth

we have to pay for we should put them on a pedestal 

for bringing life into the world.



Abortion is killing the nations of Europe, but we do not

understand the implications of this

We become a minority to a culture alien for us

Women who have done their heroic duty

are vigorous enough to run a nation.

The fear

Looking out, the day was dazzling with deep shadows
in the corners and under dead street lamps.
Reticent lips exploded gave birth to a scream which
Shattered the forenoon, only white heat remained.
Window glass dripped became petrified like
were fish eyes glared as the day was punished down an abyss.
Of black, shiny boots trampled all fragment.
But the fiend’s eye was forever glued to the inside
on my mind.

Jacob’s ladder

God had a summer house
In a private cloud, he needed a house painter
Jacob took the jo, and the deity sent
Down a ladder and it was a long climb for Jacob
He was met by God, who wasn’t sure which colour
He should choose, the painter looked around
And suggested light mahogany colour it would
Give God a feeling of adventure in and otherwise
Pleasant environment.
God liked the idea and sent a couple of angles
To fetch the paint.
It took the painter two days to do the job and
He got hungry asked for food, and the deity said
We usually don’t eat up here, but nevertheless
Sent an angel to find Jacob a burger.
When returning, he was blessed by God, for that
He was thankful but asked for money as he had a wife
and children to feed.  Of course, God said I understand
And gave Jacob 4 gold coins which value could buy a bank
And he did and become the founder of a dynasty.
Going down took long as you can imagine walking
Downwards on a ladder is stressful but he made it
And lived to tell the tale.

costly stones

the mountain partly hid the lake
was crystal clear and warm
they swam across to the river where its outlet was
we were looking for costly stones.
The lake got shallow, and they waded, but could
not find any pricey stones.
When they waded back, the lake had retracted back
into the mountain, it was now a cave.
They picked some stones and decided to return
next day.
When they did the lake was blood- red and saw
nothing of interest
They did not know why the pool
was red thought the reason was it had taken
colour from minerals in the mountain.
The place was ominous and silent in a fearful way.
His friend had turned into a shadow he no longer
looked like a human more like a hazy dream partly
remembered as the apparition, it had no face
he could have been anyone, even me.
Back at his hotel, he looked at the few stones from
the day before, they had no colour, he left them
on a shelf, and hoped someone would find
the beauty of the stones what he had missed.

The Mask

If you take the mask off
The ones who play Santa
This year
You will see the grin
Of high fiancé.
Once again we have walked
Into its evil trap
Set for naïve Christians and those
Who think it is their duty
to celebrate the birth of Christ
in this unbecoming manner

Literature & *****

Poor Edgar his world was dark, laughter was
a gasp on dying lips. He mined the deepest
ravine where not even the summer sun reaches  
but he was able to, in a moment of clarity that
lit up his tunnel, to give us great literature,
a look into his world of horror.

There are other Edgars who walk in our streets
or sit in lonely rooms wearing a cape of despair,
their laughter too is a shriek of agony, a bitter
smile set in a pale face of utter defeat, for they
cannot articulate and share with us or turn them
suffering into readable literature.

Surprise

Woke up in the middle of the night
With an *******, thought of waking up
My wife, but before I could
It fell down to it a natural state like
A sausage roll on a railway counter
in Liverpool.

Unlucky captain

He was captain in the army
but desired to become a general
so he volunteered to fight
in Afghanistan.
This was natural since came from
a military family connected
to the royal household.
He used to boast to the newspapers
that war was better than ***.
His vehicle was struck by a mine
and his dreams stopped.
Flags on half- mast church bells tolled
which they wouldn't have done
had he been a sergeant?
Even in death, the class shows its ugly face.
He or in this case, his family received
the highest  
honour and his son vowed to be a solder
to fight for his country.
No one saw the truth the captain
was in Afghanistan because it was good
for his future his promotion.

Fairground of the mad

Around and around it goes
Lies are better than truths
Honesty is for fools
No one believes the politicians
Or anyone else
Opinionated *******’ rules ok
In a world that lost its
Moral compass its humanity
If you are not greedy for power
You are a loser.
And since everyone is lying
You have to take sides
Pretend you believe one
Side – best lies- over the other
And the carousel goes faster
Till we all fall off
And ask nature for mercy

books

A book of vignettes, I think, is sent
too late for regrets, some of the writing has been
denied by several poetry sites
because they are rude and ****** but right.
Not being famous I have to pay for the printing.
Like my other books, it will not sell
a single copy but wash around the internet
like pebbles on the beach, the murmur is not
sorrow but the sigh of resignation.
I have not always been like this there was a time
when I was full of romantic poetry
sent them to small magazines, before they were
eaten by the internet, and sometimes
I had a poem or two published, and it is no longer
this way, that´s OK I like writing.

The painter
The sky this afternoon was odd clouds
looked as ice-bergs floating on pink air
the seagulls kept their distance.
A grey wolf scratches on my door
I let it in
had a leg of lamb it ate it all then fell asleep
Then it wanted to leave and, I saw it disappearing
In the dim lit hall, I asked no question.
But made me think of a Russian painter who
painted the trees black with a red background
and you could sense wolves starring at you.
The sea in the bay is dark with white spots has
the Russian gone mad painting the sky and not
telling anyone. I wonder if his name was Kalovsky
not that I know but the name sound Russians.
I go back into the hall the wolf has gone but it
left a pile of dung as prove it had been there.

The Gazelle

I met a Gazelle in Marseille
she was chewing on my jacket
I took it off to keep her warm.
She was hungry, gave her my jumper
not enough.
In Marseille I was naked
She had eaten my wallet also

The heroine

The neighbour on the other side of the narrow lane
was a ****** addict but had been “clean” for several months
and he had become a fun,  a learned man to converse with.
He was not in his house, but the tape was playing the same
song over and over again “don't tell on me…” I think.
It was dark outside I stood on the terrace and saw his shadow
at his door and knew he was dead.
His shadowy appearance shocked me I had seen a ghost,
went inside and said to my wife Victor is dead.
I saw his last thoughts. Nonsense,
she snorted you are frightening me he is out with his friends,
with “friends” she meant gays, yes Victor was gay in a small
a society that frowns upon homosexuality.
They found him dead he had succumbed to the craving
had taken an overdose of this devilish stuff.

The ghost and a Child

I have a recurring dream I hadn´t been to my house for a long time, remember I had been happy
there with my little dog,
we used to walk in the woods, and when I was driving around in my motorbike, she was glad to see me returning.
I took a bus up, the driver didn´t ask me for money and being rather frugal. I was glad.
Outside the house, a little girl was playing, asked her If she liked living here?
Yes, she said, and I have a dog, she said.
The dog came. It was my dog; it didn´t recognize me growled when I called the dog's name.
Inside the house, a couple were arguing, she said, I hate this house. It gives me the creeps
She sat down where I sat, wriggled a bit (which I liked)
she got up, stroked the seat (which I enjoyed too) but, she was bothered and sat on another chair.
They didn´t see me, I thought they must be blind.
Outside, I asked the little girl if her parents were blind. No, she said, but they can´t see you because
you are a ghost only a child like me can see.

The end

So it is all over
ashes to ashes
dying is expensive
not paid for by
the recipient.
The padre was mercifully short
four funerals a day
nothing new to say.
The violinist played Ave Maria
I tried not to cry.
Death is a great leveller.
The empty feeling of the gone.
We had a good dinner and spoke of other things.

Algarve

The future for the tourist industry is not uplifting
because the future points to fewer people travelling
and that I think is a bonus, the very idea of moving
ca mass of people from one destination
to another but not teaching them anything disturbing
like the countries they visit have a history
of tyranny.
A good example is the Algarve, once the most impoverished region
in Portugal, it was where politically suspect people
was sent, but then it was discovered and the region
became flush with money and hundred of apartment
blocks were built, if not of the highest quality.
the Co-vi virus is not going away and when it does
it will be replaced by a new pestilence.
I think to save humanity we have to consume less
and nations, people should stay where they are.
The tourist industry was not made to educate anyone
but simply a way to make money

Make it short

Soothing rain on slates
Heal nerves torn to tatters
Unforgiving is life.

Rain is decanting
A transparent carpet of silk
Untouchable beauty.

Rain chased by gusts
Mad dance around corners
A day fit for heroes.

Paris Sonnet
I visited Paris for a few days I have been here before
but this time I came alone.
Walked into a café selling delicious cakes had a piece
of cake, a big piece, and had a crust on top
for my untrained eyes it looked like petrified snot.
with tiny footsteps on done by a cook with a fork.
I put a napkin over the cake and drank coffee,
I could stir the coffee with tiny sticks that looked
like sugary rat tails.
The river Saine ran full that year.
Discerning rats prefer cake shops, and why not.
Who wants to live in that ***** river?
Perhaps blind lovers that only see one another.