A Small Escape

Music is playing somewhere not too far away;
I am walking downhill, on paving slabs a little uneven
and greasy after rain - I need to watch my step.

I need to watch my step. I am alone here
and do not speak the language. I’m not sure
why I came out at all - no, that’s not true,
I came out to find some space, to mend my head,
to get my spirit right, something like that.

We are being well looked after, but sometimes
I need not to have everything provided, organised,
timetabled. So tonight, in the cool evening air,
after an afternoon of gentle rain, I am walking
the streets of a city I do not know, with no particular
destination, just a mental cotton string I am unwinding
and stretching back, for when I retrace my steps.

I should be careful of my steps. They echo
in the stone walls, and up and down the side alleys.
It is growing quickly dark, and there’s no-one much around.
But I do not feel unsafe; this city has been a welcoming place,
despite the challenge of its otherness.
I do not speak the language, but I find I can translate
most of what the street signs and the hoardings tell me.

The garage is a busy oasis of noise in the quiet streets.
I buy crisps and a cola; the lady in the kiosk smiles
and wishes me something in Portuguese.
“Obrigado. Boa noite!” I say, and she laughs,
a happy laugh like bells, a laugh that says, “Well tried!”

Time to retrace my steps. The cotton leads me home,
leads me to my temporary lodgings, anyway,
and I eat my crisps and drink my cola as I walk.
There’s a soap opera on TV, and no-one much has missed me.
“Been out?” asks the American girl, looking up;
“A bit of fresh air,” I tell her. And a little laughter, I might have said:
a little laughter to lift and refresh me, as I wait to see
what we’ll be organised to do tomorrow.