Michael Estabrook


In the old world

I - The old world is different
than the new world,
a more solid texture to things,
more resilience, confidence, timelessness,
everything with obvious purpose and place.
II - Outside my hotel window
I see racks of bicycles,
a woman pushing a baby carriage,
a bus spewing smoke,
the squeal of a train stopping
at the station slices through the dusk.
A black and white image like from a scene
in Casablanca flicks into my mind:
dark-clad people, wearing hats,
clutching themselves tightly pressing forward
into the wind, dirty snow on the ground,
in the background a Nazi car watching
like an untrustworthy gargoyle.
III - And I’m sitting here
in a comfortable chair in my hotel room,
trying not to succumb this early
to the jetlag and I’m thinking, as usual,
about you, at home looking after things,
missing me too, or maybe not.

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