Two Poems

Instead of leaving it too late, we go to Cabo de Gata

(after Louisa Adjoa Parker)

The weekend starts in Almería, some corner place.
The lunch-hour barman bangs down beers,
our fingers anchovy-greasy, crumpled serviettes on the floor.
On the coast road, I play you Chambao’s ‘Ahí estás tú’
as we speed past succulents, white-cubed houses.
We talk college discos, haybales and handfasting at your wedding,
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