Dancing on Metaphorical Clouds
I was dancing on metaphorical clouds,just another laden day, it took a while
to realise that the raindrops on my lips
had the saltiness of tears and the leaden
steps and stomach overturning were mine.
I passed Pédro as he turned over cans,
it turns out his brother played in a steel band,
I'm not sure what happened, on this Pédro
wipes his ponderous brow, I just ponder and
wander leaving him to lay out fruit and vegetables,
He will have carp this Christmas, a fish, I never buy.
There is Leon, he sits on the first floor in a
steel and chrome cage with too many windows.
He always nods as I pass, imitates whistling
in the summer, and the clown in winter as I
briskly walk, the wind from the sea bartering
with the rain and wind simultaneously battering me.
Then there is le petit baguette, it always tempts,
I have a hankering for a rhum baba, I was never
your éclair girl, too much cream and chocolate.
They have canopy outside with checkered tables,
smokers huddle there with steaming espresso's.
In the summer I sometimes stopped there for
a chai latte and a complimentary pain au chocolat.
I was dancing on metaphorical clouds,
just another winters day, the sky was dark
and hung its weighting heart, meeting pavements
to run rivers as we lowly commuters walk, run.
Oh it will be such a long time now until summer.
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2012-12-20 at 20:05
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