Today the newspapers don’t speak
of one culture swallowing another.
Brothers are guiding their younger sisters
by the hand through city traffic.
Husbands are facing their wives in cafés
and listening, earnestly,
while radiant olive-skinned waitresses
stoop to collect shattered glasses.
I am sorting through a sea
of fruit carts in Monastiraki Square,
shadowed by an older democracy,
selecting those bruised
and most affected by the deep heat,
leaving those ripe for a less yielding day.
-published by Offcourse Literary Journal