BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY

Our recent visit to Florence led to my writing this short poem. The image is of the corner cafe and the street in the Oltrarno, the Bohemian Quarter, where we walked Ginger, the friendly Beagle that we looked after during our stay.

OLTRARNO: NIGHT

Rain gives the moon-lit, cobbled street a sheen,
diverts the eye from flaking, spray-tagged walls
and even tumbled rubbish bags appear
more silk than shabby plastic where they lie 
like corpses in the aftermath of war. 
The shuttered shops, the late-night restaurants
whose lights emit a kindly lighthouse glow,
and, in nocturnal doorways, crouching cats,
are images I carry home tonight,
half-noticed, hardly noticed, so it seems,
to weave into my narrative of dreams.