clogged with people©papa osmubal

clogged with people©papa osmubal

barbara rendall

Five hard months a foreigner,
And what have I earned?
The satisfaction of following my nose
Down any cobbled lane

No matter how narrow,
How peculiar-smelling,
How clogged with people, vegetables,
Doomed chickens, or racks of defective track suits,

And coming out somewhere I faintly recognize,
Unfazed, armed with a good hunch
That this travessa must flow eventually
Into some estrada I’ve drifted by before –

Catching the currents,
Working my sails,
Surviving my own ignorance,
Bobbing along the surface of other people’s lives.


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