Empty Sunday street in late June,
The sun isn’t friendly I walk on
The shady side. Cross a plaza, every
Café shut, only a palm tree and me,
A sudden breeze and I can smell
The sea, the palm swishes gently
And I quicken my steps although
I’m not going anywhere other than
Escaping my flat where the fridge
Is the only one that hums.

The breeze dies but not in vain,
The palm has shaken off its dust and
I, my lethargy and in front of me
A shiny coin slipped off the hand
Of an eager child who never got his
Ice cream, sits in a dark recess and
Cries! Outside a café a waiter is
Slowly setting up table and chairs
I ask for a glass of wine, the child
Is an adult now and the plaza is
Filled by flowers, lovers and laughter.