READING POETRY

By Tom Fillion

Is like a cab ride at four in the morning in Mexico City in a cab with one headlight, no seat belts or door locks and stop lights and road signs are punctuation ignored from the last earthquake

Or a drive from Heathrow in the inside- out, right handed driver’s seat, left handed stick shift rental car on left-handed roads with counter-clockwise roundabouts to Oxford where the roads bear the imprint of the designers of Stonehenge and human sacrifice

Or a boat ride on the Rhine listening to a band play Beatles songs while we sipped wine and beer and medieval castles and vineyards filled the landscape to the Lorelei where lay the dead of misguided sailors and Teutonic myth

Or walking the streets of Dublin where umbrellas bloom on every sidewalk and wither when the sun makes a brief appearance before dashing into another pub or museum with the Book of Hours