Julian Stannard
Riviera
We hid under the tunnel in Via Milano
to escape from the thunder
and the whiplash of lightning and rain.
Just three chairs holding the water back.
And then the slow climb into the hills
the wipers playing their music of nerves,
the olives sluiced, cleansed, waiting
for that hot god that comes after storms...
The lightning weaker now, less frequent
distant lights leaning on the villages:
Calderina, Castello, Serreta, Gorleri
suddenly broadened and held by arrows of mauve
before the folding in of shuttered rooms
dark, tense, moody spaces
the bloated icon, la noia, bitterness
the fruit that’s always lusty in the mouth...
Page(s) 42
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