CANEÇAS

Superheated air streams in 

Through the driver-side window as I burn the car

Across the blistering heat, exhuming Ian Curtis's

Pompeian corpse from deep within my past.

So long forgotten, so long unused –

The Eternal procession in the heat of July.

My aging car flashes warning lights

Into the corner of my eyes, 

Through nowhere-scapes east of Lisbon

Away from the coast, far from the sea.

And open sky grey with searing smoke

From wildfires in Spain, 500 miles east.

All is dry as white is bone.

The air around unbreathably hot

I roll past parched brown soil

Hissing clumps of sickly cabbage

Brambles laden with shrivelled berries

Scattered black among brothels and slums

Decaying filaments of 

Blunt bleaching houses

Rot fast in the fiery sun

In whose fire..

Hot hot sky, the leaden glow of end.

Sixty-four I am.

Through nowhere-scapes east of Lisbon. How long, 

How long must I sing this song? 

In nowhere-scapes east of Lisbon. 

Will you still need me

When I'm seventy-four

In the superheated air