When I arrived, everything was running on all cylinders
The train
The plane
The sun
The sea
The happiness
All cylinders
The train cut through Anatolia
Giant peaches flew into my face lush, enormous tomatos as big as houses turned my face red. “Is there more” I shrieked.
The bakery was filling up in my mind thick with yeast and happiness. Cheese rolled down the hills of Trabzon, Mersin and every farm from, Batman, Konya Giresun and beyond. “They’re all so different strong and creamy.”
The tea house opened on the train and on every street corner. “Come inside enişte.” As night fell aniseed rolled in the air. “That tastes of nothing,” and I fell through the cracks in my mind.
Contentment ran down every stream,
A helping hand never far away
“Does this country run on smiles.”
Then the train turned and blackness soaked the skin and the night.
People were being taken. “Tell my wife I love her.”
Shopping bags had holes nothing in it. “What will I eat tonight.”
The moon pulled a sad face and the stars were wasted here / eyes down / those far from the grave saw the journey speeding up. “I’ve got nothing in my pockets.”
There was nothing to laugh at just look at the clock on the wall, work starts at 9 and finishes at 9 look at the screen and believe what you are told.
There are reds under the beds perverts down your street keep believing in what is pure and clean.
It sank into the Bosphorus something about a loose cable and no safety certificate the old one rusty in a place that is running on no cylinders just screams.
