Astonishment of sheep grazing

on brown parched land

near the filling station,  

a couple of lambs, plus egrets.

I swim lengths of the pool, tracked

by a dead leaf, a drowned wasp.

One afternoon I step outside

and can’t breathe.

 

A sudden rush of Levante wind

slams doors. Family argument

next door, screams and tears,

two daughters from Barcelona,

back with their parents for the summer.

Francisco and I talk about the gangsters

of Marbella as he drives into town.

He toots a car attempting

 

an illegal turn on the dual carriageway.

The kind of guy, he says.

What if he has an AK-47? I ask.

We laugh, a little nervously.

What is the English word for

cleaning drug money? he asks.

Launder, I say. Like laundry.

 

We share the Parque de la Constitucion,

its trees and fountains a thankful refuge,

with blackbirds and parakeets.  

Once I saw a butterfly in the middle

of winter as I hung around there

while my wife helped our daughter

choose her wedding dress.