Insomnia in a Foreign Place

some sleepless several hours

pretending to admire

laughter and shouts

which splash up from the tapas

cafes in the plaza below

I spy through wisteria

people on spindly chairs at small round tables

strewn under the slurred moon, umbrellas folded tight

I draw heavy curtains against

the thousand candle lights

muffling the drums, the singing

whims of conversation

in liquid tongues

I am in the dark

I am listening to music.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
This entry was posted in poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply