street parade
people come to the city
to dance and rave
i’m trying to make my way through
i forgot
again
carrying my guitar
and a heavy bag
just finished playing a wedding
for a couple
who didn’t look that in love
a girl in the corner
shoulders shaking
mascara down her cheeks
i keep walking
a woman walks towards me
short white skirt
she looks at me
lifts it
flashes me
i take a look
she smiles
i keep walking
three dudes with three guitars
sitting on a quiet street
playing a song about love
grief
and loss
a woman sits next to them
tries to kiss
the least Irish looking of them
he rejects her
i keep walking
I smoke a cigarette
on the platform
and wait for the train
to the south
maybe mine
today is a beautiful day
the sun is out
the same people
pacing down the street
just like the day before
something feels heavy
maybe mine
tired, maybe
or just sad
really hard to tell
i drink the same coffee
in the same spot
as yesterday
but it's different
really different
i force myself to smile
there's a heaviness
in the air today
maybe mine
he’s preparing his bike
for his daily ride
puts in the battery
carefully
then slowly slips on
a yellow vest
and his helmet
i sit in the shade
drink some coffee
we sing together
a different song today
hotel california
in between verses
he talks about
his time in india
how he grew up in tibet
and how his family
couldn’t afford school
we start singing the chorus
welcome to the hotel california
it’s paradise here
as a pensioner
he says
in my backyard
lies a dead pigeon
again
it‘s not the first time
birds come here to die
next to the run down yellow facade
a tiny graveyard
without the ceremony
it just lies there
i give it a name
luke
a bit late
but maybe it would have liked it
a tiny sparrow
flies full speed
against my neighbour‘s window
and again
then it flies away
i don‘t give it a name
not yet, sparrow
not yet
a few rooftops
three people
on three different rooftops
some pigeons
sitting in the sun
at a safe distance
one is reading a book
another one drinking coffee
i’m up here for a smoke
the wind is making
the city sing
on this quiet sunday morning
the church bell rings
every now and then
a mom yelling at her child
she left her window open
i hear the news from a distant tv
and i
keep listening
to the windchime
singing behind me