America

Silently sitting, clumsily in a lacquered wicker chair
Outside the once fashionable restaurant, waiting for her


Waiting for the morning’s daubing colour, jousting for street space
Smeared by sun, fighting shade along the waiting white walls
Where market sellers gather, like grey smudges
Below the gaudy faces of enamel fascias, smiling at lazy gazes


‘ She’s gone’
Her acid tongue spits sweet revenge, between pouting painted lips
Ice cold, like a sudden frost killing a frail summer
‘Gone? .. gone where?’


Her vampire blood- red varnished nails, preened for the clean kill
Outstretched vultures talons, tantalisingly, creeping closer
Along the starched Irish-linen white tablecloth, suddenly stopping
Like a pulse
‘America’


Harry Mills
English Bakery, Boracay, Philippines, 31st October 2012
From: Departure Lounge