Some words cannot be found
Without first being
Or becoming lost
The ground is dry, hard
Parched, thin grass
There are memories here
Yet the barren earth
Does not know how to call for them
There are couples, walking arm in arm
Matching jumpers, matching rucksacks
There are families
Of all ethnicities, of none
Who seem to share high levels of boredom
This is not my place anymore
I have lost my feeling of belonging
On the balcony of the cafe I drink a glass
Of Fontimans, Botanically Brewed
Mandarin and Seville Orange Jigger
I am there among young Japanese folk
And a woman, in a Sgt Peppers velvet jacket
The family of four, at the next table
Talk in pronounced English of last seasons Italian trip
