mykonos


in summer it seems the island
gets no wider, but its narrow waist
bulges with bellies, rucksacks, wallets;
plump boys prance around the port
in glossy pants
lost irishmen
sit waiting for friends to pass
joke with edgy cafeowners
about last year's wild parties

*

in winter we walked the back through
pitted scrub & rutted lanes
as wet & windy as the northlands

sharp smacks of light split sky & sea apart
an old truck bellyached up from the coast:
we visited the airport's wire. the power station,
the rubbish dump
it was a driech north day &
it knew us well

returning we found cruise boats, the passengers
striding the streets for a souvenir hour
unsure of whether this was what they meant to see

stray sunlight runs down brown scarps of earth & wave:
drizzle & woodsmoke, clack of feet in the stone maze,
two cups of coffee on a damp table in cold half-light,
a small white village huddled against a lurching sea.