Barfly
Outside
a bar, Bella Vista, in the sleepy town of
Barranquilla,
Colombia—a
donkey wears a hat with holes for its ears, dozed.
Hot day, its serenity is endless. Around its closed
eyes blue
flies crawled. I’m kind to animals, waved my hand in
front of
its eyes to get rid of the flies. The beast saw it
differently, kicked.
In the street only the donkey, me and the cruel
midday sun,
everyone else had sought refuge in the dark interior
of houses.
Looked at the bar’s dark, cool interior, since the
beast didn’t
care for my sympathy I limped back in there and had
a beer.
Gloomy
The saddest
sight
A bar closed
Four in the morning
When I just want another
Drink
Before going home
To an empty flat
And a stuffed canary
In a dusty cage.
The consolation is
If I walk slowly
The Chinese grocer
Will be open
And he has got cold
Beer in his fridge.
When I Met Sir Cliff
I
once met Cliff Richard at a newsagent—
he bought a
conservative paper
which, makes sense since he is loaded?
Cliff smiled to everyone in the shop,
I did not, can’t see why I should smile
buying a newspaper.
That is the difference between us except
he can sing bland songs that are pleasing
to the ear and he has got hair. We spoke—
he was pleased to
have someone to talk to
who wasn’t an adoring fan. We drank wine, too
much
and I walked him home, he lived nearby.
He hadforgotten his keys to the gate,
but jauntily jumped over the wall.
And that was the last I saw of Cliff,
a slim bum disappearing behind a wall
