Song of Athenian Gypsies

from the cabaret, "Cafe du Monde"

They occupy the periphery,
winter in wind-bitten alleys,
summer in panting diesel-heat
under hospitable plane-trees.

You observe them unobtrusively,
drink in their colours, wistfully -
swirls of flamingo and cochineal,
silver and lime, rose and violet.

They move with the grace of acrobats,
slender girls with tik-tak heels,
like wildflowers in gaudy fields
desired, devoid of coquetry.

Children of children raised
on the street, with incessant
sirens to lull them to sleep,
scorned and bedraggled, grubby,
street-wise, confront you with passion
and blame in their eyes - too unlike you
to feel comfortable with, in their vivid,
tenacious, precarious lives.



Spring in the City


Buds on the bitter-orange trees,
their perfume haunting, bridal,
brief - the sombre skies of birdless
winter gone...

.................. In the trolley-buses,
music - hungry-hearted refugees -
a Romanian accordionist and his son,
piping their broken song.