Living the Dream

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is an extract from my poetry book 'Golphino'.... available on Amazon now!

Created: November 25,2022

He said he was Italian and lied a lot,

Mirrored shades resting on his forehead.

The beaches weren’t too crowded,

I was wearing a bikini top

I went to swim amongst the seaweed-covered rocks,

That night I ate with him and shared some wine.

The next evening we walked around town,

Rude boy and rude girl

Hustled drinks and cigarettes and stopped to talk to people in the street outside the bars.

Carlos knew all the Black boys,

We stayed over at their humble ruin-

It looked like it used to be a bar or disco-

Out in the fields not far from The Golphino Hotel.

Wild cats, kittens- tabby, black and white- peering from piss-stenching bushes, darting away

Timidly, everywhere, sneaking over to eat the remains of the rice dishes that the boys shared.

The boys like cool cats, hanging around the square.

He was like a mother to me.

His tent under a gnarled white-flowered tree

He'd play football

I'd sit on the rocks watching them,

Swim and wait; trying to ignore my hunger.


One evening we broke into a house

Pushed a little bit,

Twiddled a bit with the lock on the wooden door

Then pushed back against a mountain of junk mail inside-

Supermarket special offers and pizza delivery and dating back years-

Shoved into bags and dumped in the skip opposite,

A large, dry palm leaf to brush the dirt, dust and cobwebs.

Then Carlos pressed me against the wall,

His lips and body locking me in.

If we had found a house outside the city walls

No-one would have cared.


We soon moved to an unfinished,

Discarded villa

Two walls missing,

Burnt out metal drums, mallow leaved bindweed, Syrian thistle, piles of wood and bricks,

Near to the nudist beach.

He mended the fridge with a few pieces of twisted,

Plastic bag around some wires.

He cleaned the fireplace of waste,

Exposing a tiled area to cook,

And also found a matching tiled table and placed it in the centre of the two-walled room.

He casually built a fire, passed me cakes and a cup of tea,

The cup made out of a beer can with the top cut off.

Then he leaned back,

Coolly drinking his tea

As if it was his apartment and he had lived there for years.

Submitted: November 24, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Michelle Blower. All rights reserved.

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And happily ever after receded ever-so-far away...? Just guessing...

Fri, November 25th, 2022 3:26pm

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