Summer is here
filling Albufeira with flowery frocks,
Bermuda shorts, beer bellies
and prone white bodies on the beach
seeking elusive, unhealthy sun tan.
There is passion in the air
bright-eyed housewives rekindling a lust in their men
that is absent much of the year,
nothing kills the action of love like work and domestic routine.
Fried chicken and chips permeates in streets
flanked by Stalinist blocks of flats
only redeemed by balconies where bath towels and knickers hangs.
Plenty of lager
but where can I get a decent bottle of red?

Inland, the painter has been hard at work
fields are seven shaded green,
wraith like bushes, ancient golden leaved almond trees,
to dark military sturdiness of carob trees
and as to break monotony
strewn about are yellow, red, white flowers and munching long legged sheep.
Leaning against an olive tree
Maria sits
her skin is hazel nut from spending a lifetime tilling her plot
harvesting potatoes and beans.
The winter has been hard on her old body
she may not see another one,
but for now she just sits and let the sun ease her pain
while inhaling nature’s fragrance.