The lights of the city
Lie before us
Like lizards eyes; rising up,
Cicadas below the walls
Murmuring the sounds
Of a late Spanish Summer.
Rioja splashes drunkenly
On to the white picnic table,
The river of crushed red grapes
Swerving to avoid a camera,
A pack of Lucky Strikes
Flung idly on its side.
We had walked all day
Along narrow baked streets
In the blazing sunlight
Beating on our backs like a menace,
Lay on the beach like sardines
Cooking nicely in the sun.
Now we sit on the roof
To survey our new found world –
Giddy with our plans for buying
Green olives and sherry –
And paddling in the sea,
As we guzzle our wine by candlelight –
“To Chiclana!!” Clinking glasses,
Such a beautiful city
Drenched in sun and serenity –
Our holiday life – We wonder
If things will ever be the same?
Or if not – at least just as good.
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