Summer in the City

by John Alberich

Two floors below the rats crackle through left-overs whilst we lie, folded into one another, drowsy after love, whispering our Caribbean promises. We sleep in our own stink and wander among palm trees and macaws. The blanket moans with our sweat but stars float on the lagoon - we laugh and dip our toes. Whatever scratches beneath the bed dissolves in the rush of oars that push us on to where a drum beats at the shore - and we dance. We dance knowing dawn will scatter night's potions before waking us without love - we love expecting a return to life and live knowing our dreams for what they are. But we still dream and the city is happier for their touch.


John Alberich, having idled away the years tracking down dreams to bottle and label, is currently seeking willing windows in which to display his curiosities.