Sunday In Berlin

Above,
the young couple tease –
a scream, laughter, tender murmur,
Thud, bang, cleaning, rapping, loving;
my apologies to them when I vacuum
away the resting load.

Yesterday,
they were kind, truly,
they listened with me to an aria;
labourer, waitress, gigolo, stripper,
Whatever,
Whichever,
Mine never.

This morning,
I left early,
breaking Sabbath,
dry nose bleeding.

looked at the mannequins in a café,
tempted, resisted, feeling princely;
queued with the rich and the free
to see photos, in vogue, trash porn art,
checked a great whosoever’s nonsense.

There I was,
alright, uneasy,
Scared
to look but I did,
vague, old video.

Imagination
seemed better.

Tried,
but there was no tale –
the Lover, the parents,
in cashmere, being chic.
Love, it could’ve been us –

Yawning.

returning to less regal address –
on the escalator
with a lady
from church,
weary, hurrying home;
a lady of the night at the light,
pretty, jeans frayed, leaning against
Me,
no, the pillar;

my day’s over.