Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

                                  I

The palms have thick trunks, bougainvillea
abounds. A city slips by on its way to work
but those of us here sit in the sun or stroll
with companions as though industry
was a cold someone else has caught.

The benches are long with parapets of wrought iron,
hammered and carved into five ovals for the backs
of a quintet of loafers. On this early manana bonita,
the benches are empty except for single souls
on this one or that. You could stretch out
and stare at the sky,
but in Mexico the sun is fierce
and may well stare back.
Better to find the shade, as older ones do.
There will be heat enough when the sitting
is over.

                                          II

Mexico is the place for a writer
of “established” age and inclination.
The country is vivacious, frenetic, full
of the young, most of them too busy
and preoccupied to sit in the park
and write, or bother you in most any way.
To them, you are de no mas importancia.

So the English lady in sensible shoes,
sweater and skirt walks here each morning
speaking Spanish with her long-haired
young housekeeper. Around and around
Tequis they walk.. .at her pace. No-one here
knows or cares that she is una escritora famosa,
author of mysteries set mainly in Suffolk.
Celebrities of intelligence reside where
anonymity blooms like bougainvillea.

She will take her constitutional and even
though it is sabado, she will return
to su casa, clang shut its gate, climb
to her workroom and either earn her living
or get algo out of her system.
Doctors are cheap here, the natives
are friendly, her Spanish is fluent
or close.. . aproximadomente.