Travel Poetry – 2

Travel poem number 2 about Istanbul.

Returning from drinking a sage tea in a cafe near some tombs I get off the tram;

the cars screech to a halt at the red light as I dodge by the man selling dancing mutant zebras.

People are buying clothes from a pile on the pavement as a salesman calls out the prices.

The humidity is high.

A stallholder presses fresh orange juice and the restaurant is still open;

men are sitting on wooden chairs on the pavement chatting as the traffic zooms by on the flyover.

Cats miaow and hiss over a discarded kebap and a dolmus is waiting to travel to a distant suburb.

The tour operator still wants me to go to Georgia tomorrow.

It is nearly midnight in Aksaray in Istanbul

 

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