A small slice of Europe. Cafe Lorca
Makes me crave huevos de gamba
and strong black coffee
Il Papiro whispering to me of Firenze
and the old bridge across the Arno
looking up towards Ponte alle Grazie
Bookshops that laugh at me
because I’m not in the Marais
and throw a soft arm around my shoulder
when I start to weep holding open the cover flap
of the new Playing Beattie Bow.
It’s cobblestones as much as anything.
That and scale, narrow spaces, street tables,
voices and the sweet smells of food on its way.
