¡Muy vientos! Es no bueno
the old man, barely half my height remarked
the fingers of the four palms
were drawn to the mountains
north-east of the old town
ill winds bring ill moods
ill luck, ill health
nothing good to this place
gusting through the narrow streets
picking off loose grains
from the crumbling sandstone
recently tormented by lashings of hail
the wind whips round ground-down corners
claws at telephone wires
whines through cables
buffeting the frail of age
and those unsteady with drink
a butterfly tumbled down Carrer de Manacor
ragged forewings, tatty hind wings
complaining with I told you soes
it’s too early for spring
cyclists snapped at by the teeth of it
fear the spiteful dig in the ribs
from the untrustworthy side wind
prefer the sheltered pavement tables
for coffee and talk of sprockets and saddles
to the intermittent heave-ho
provided by passing vehicles
who compress then blast instability
having fleetingly promised shelter
~
CLP 25/02/2024
Journey of Words 