Poetry

After the Declaration

Trance like

on Parallel
thought I saw

Anna Gabriel
she looked sad

tired
people do. 

But nights still sprawl

beneath long stares
black humour
strange mood

I babbled
in the bubble

on Sepulveda.

Smiling swine

shouldered rifles. 

friends played
pick up sticks
with deft touch

I watched as
they listened 

we laughed

all drank and again

till in Esquerra de L’Eixample
with Marc and Nestor

I rolled fat cigarettes
they clicked chips
laid cards on felt.

Held faces.
The lost, gained

and gambled,
weekends

were discussed.

Saturday followed
with Pau and Belen,
as loving as ever.
we met at Fontana,
crissed Gracia’s cross

third
(but fourth)
on a corner block, paella
with Migi that triangular dance
again, which wine makes easy

and the name game

whilst we waited on thunder.

James Roberts