The Village

The Village When I came to this small village in the interior of Algarve there were animals’ mules and pigs and children played in the road, barking dogs and chicken looking for worms and I dreamt of becoming a rustic poet recording a vanishing way of life. The change came so quick the children became adults moved to Lisbon tractor instead of mules and we grew old as letters of refusal piled up I married a hypochondriac who faints when I inject insulin into my stomach. It was not to be like this she should be by my side when I received prizes and the applause was for her to enjoy. I thought it would be easy people would buy my work go and be more moral and my poetry would be jewels of love. Balderdash! The truth is I`m happy to be alive the dream belonged to someone else an idiot I used to know,