Nocturne of São João Avenue

May 21, 2020

A silent transvestite leaning against a post
is less sad than São João Avenue at dawn,
when the venereal north-easterly fog reclines against
the empty alien walls, and women
wait, and the drunk waits for his shadow
fallen on the road. The hour when the cats
sink on their question-mark tails with no answers
and sailors have sung and now wait and look at each other
waiting for their song, waiting to listen to it
and all languages are incomprehensible
like the wind waiting for itself
listening to its old wail of broken windows.

In the anonymous room barely lit up
by the outside neon, the lovers
are puppets of time: they listen to
night’s violent caresses, put their arms
round each other’s back soft as a dishevelled bed.
The wind gets trapped in the Avenue of acrid smells.
and the lovers fall asleep to the neon’s rhythm, untethered,
bottled-up, night among the posts.

Alfredo Fressia

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: