Las Ramblas

Searching for evidence on another continent,
You come across two elderly men sitting on
A concrete bench in the middle of a loud
Promenade; it is noisy, thousands of people
Are talking all at once, laughter, festooned tourists,
Street performers brilliantly painted in uncanny poses,
Gold, silver! Vendors hawking green maps,
Women in red dresses, singing,
Lean boys smoking against the brown streetlamps.

You watch two elderly men, spotted with age,
Tune a plastic boombox, the black dial
Swiveling across years, swimming in gray static,
Until they find it, yellow music of big band jazz
Sweeps into your ears, the elephant horns bellowing;
They swing their thin arms, stomp their feet
And dance in their seats, oblivious
Of the blue sea crashing around them,
Smiling as they must have in younger years.




Poetry by Charlie fan
Read 407 times
Written on 2006-11-01 at 00:09

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