Something took form
(Alison Murray)

Posted on November 20, 2010 by in Heightened Talk

 

in Narbonne

 

I listened to a cat scratch of claws

 

on a tiled roof,

 

a storm, the cathedral bells.

 

 

 

The death of Rimbaud

 

went unnoticed

 

by the good people of Marseille

 

at the Hôpital de la Conception

 

the taxi driver grudgingly

 

took my black-eyed cheque home.

 

 

 

Two dozen oysters opened

 

into breathless mouths

 

at the type of wedding breakfast

 

so unfashionable, nowadays.

 

 

 

No-one put their hands to my face

 

No-one placed a lit cigarette in their mouth

 

smiled

 

and went back to their book.

 

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