#poem, A Kind of Love

KIND OF LOVE

She wakes up to a song she’s programmed on her mobile phone
and thinks “this is the day” and wonders where she’ll roam
because the forests own the streets,
and gardens own the elevators…
But keeping with the beat of the song she used to waking up to,
she scrambles to her instant coffee,
adds a healthy shot of bourbon,
skips and jumps and showers promptly,
dresses with the ugly fashion
that they’re now all wearing
in the office, bars and bistros,
she takes another drink and wonders if she’ll end up in Skid Row,
’cause her skin’s already faded,
and her blue eyes?
Lubricated by the thoughts that ravage madly through her mind.
She thought she tasted love
but it was Gin and not too fancy,
and she can’t remember who it was or when,
possibly in the days when she was oh so chancy,
yet it’s not a sin,
in love we all try to pretend…
She stumbles to her flat on Flatbush,
Thinking I’m not drunk just ambushed
by silent shadows that in Brooklyn always wait for love.
A love that no one gives them.
A love that’s quite indecent.
A yearning, burning, prima-donna type of condescending
Feeling like a lump of dry manure,
yet it’s so intense, and quite long lasting,
we all know it will endure,
because it is a colourful and quite alluring kind of love.
Tomorrow she’ll be hanging from a rope she tied so lovingly …

C.2021, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 12 MAR 2021, Valencia, Spain