a Day at The opera

A day at the Opera.


It was winter when I came home, had been in Spain
for twenty years; cold and snow and I wore sandals;
asked mother for woolen socks, she wouldn’t give
me any since I didn’t lived here anymore. My sister
who was there too, agreed. Having no home I went
to the cinema to see Casablanca, got lost and walked
in a maze of empty streets where everyone sat indoors
watching TV, I could tell by the flickering blue light
on curtains. When I finally got there, it was an opera
house, and premiere, plenty of horse drawn carriage
outside where the famous were being photographed
and interviewed by a sycophantic, yet resentful press
that hoped the horses would bolt. “ I’m an opera
lover” I said and sang an aria from Madam Butterfly,
still they wouldn’t let me in, the sandals you see. So
I walked back home, only it wasn’t there anymore,
but made into a parking lot; served me right for being
away too long