Notebook May 3rd – Kronstadt, St Petersburg
Today I wrote a poem, sitting between the pigeons.
It went something like this…?
I wrote it on the back of my lost luggage customs form.
News finally came from Polcovo and I went to collect my orphaned suitcase.
Handing in my official form, now stamped with red bureaucracy circles,
forgetting about the poem penned on the back of it.
Sign here, sign here and sign here and yes you need to sign there.
Now my lonely words are afloat in the Russian ocean of
duplicate forms of black-pen-only frantic tourist scribbles.
The pigeons are still here but the words departed on a one way ticket.