Minor misgivings

I’ve come back from the hang over, and I’m hanging onto all that’s dear in my life.

My carnations on the dining table, some of them hang their heads, in sympathy.

I sit in Arthur’s cafe with the little red Lisbon tram on the coffee machine.

you know, this girl, this survivor, a thousand lovers could come to her,

to make it smell of rose petals down there,

but to her it still smells of rape.

I’m a penniless poet, but I come bearing gifts.