Promenade

I have nothing to do
so I take a tram to the city
to go for a walk among the shoppers.
First down the main street and
a man in a kaftan-shirt and dreadlocks
is crouched drawing Jesus with chalk
on the footpath. It is nearly Christmas,
after all. Then, onto the avenue where
summer-shorts hug women’s contours and
sway from side to side. The sun is hot,
even if the air is cold for spring
and warm for winter. I look at bargains
for running-shoes. There is a mobile-stall
selling Spanish doughnuts.

Now into

a back alley littered with small tables where
late-risers eat their breakfasts outside
artful coffee-shops. A bespectacled teen,
his tartan-shirt buttoned right up
to his neck, stands next to a doorway,
agitating, with a posy of flowers.
On the cobble-stones, a red-haired young woman clicks:
his face lights up, like an open refrigerator. Everything
suddenly gets louder: it is 11:10 of a Sunday.

A strain of violin

issuing from a dappled corner is a huge pleasure,
so I stop to give him a coin. Somebody else
has left a muffin. Another, a paper-clip.

There are a few strollers

on the streets today, some empty, the
toddlers astride on their dads’ shoulders,
which makes it happy and more beautiful. And one
keeps on walking, past mannequins and
magazines, and a hand in his boyfriend’s
backpocket.

A cup of long black and it is back
on the tram,

with my heart in my
jacket:

Works by Whitman, and
a poem in my heart.

5 comments

  1. I LOVE this, Vera. It’s a short film. Seriously. You painted it beautifully. That was so fun. Thank You and Cheers!!! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It was such pleasure to follow your path, your observations, your thoughts, on such a lovely Sunday. The moment.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s such a pleasure having you.

      Liked by 1 person

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