Talking to Ludwig
Poetry microdose: Day Twenty-Eight
i’m reading a preamble-less
poem, the one that begins
it is two or three o’clock and i have
to confess the line above
is somewhat stolen. bourbon is
bolton’s drink and o’hara is his subject.
meanwhile, i’ve cultivated a friendship
with a brazilian grasshopper
who responds to ludwig. together
we ponder life’s differences
and similarities in difference. i offer
my new friend capfuls of water
and savanna-green fern fronds
for shade, it can be every hue
of hot and lonely in brazil.
spending all day
in front of a laptop
doesn’t mean you’re writing poetry. if i die
what will they make of my search
history? will anybody bother looking?
i wander the yellow-swept streets
of pirenópolis, sidestep brawling
vira-latas, burning tyres, broken footpaths
and blistering bags of garbage piled by the side
of the road. i’m scared to admit how difficult
abstaining for seven days has been,
i don’t want ludwig to think i have
a problem. at the tapiocaria i order
margarita, a single vegetarian
option, queijo, tomate e manjericão,
cheese, tomato and basil.
it’s delicious. over the road, the church
obscures the sanguine sky and a buzzing drone
drowns out swarming flies. i like this
place with its concrete walls, mismatched
chairs and hanging lights. the people seem
warm. i wonder what o’hara would have
written with this lunch hour?
or, are the colours here too
drenched for new york flâneurs?
ludwig and i agree, bolton would
happily trade bourbon for chá mate.
Stevi-Lee Alver is an Australian writer and tattoo artist. She lives in the middle of Brazil with her wife. She loves bush walks and waterfalls but misses the ocean.
