Lisbon

Cobbled chaos,

Vehicle horns,

Dark living rooms. 

Caged budgies 

Looking outwards from within.  

Old ladies that once sprinted 

Over these streets, 

Hobble arthritically through splintered 

Pavements with walking sticks. 

Clothes lines and flies, 

Buzzing and tied 

Between broken biscuits of buildings; 

Craggy faces broken, sleeping, 

Woken, 

By mid-afternoon sun. 

Trams rusted and rattling and squeaking, 

Turning dust 

Over wonky steps 

Only just swept.

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