The fourth week – crossing the iron curtain

We leave Austria

And the roads deteriorate

Overhead cables proliferate

And we are through to

What were the Soviet countries


The houses are smaller, as are the cars

And weeds poke through in any space they can.


We ride out of Budapest

Through the estates

And suburbs,

Then to the river again

With old men fishing

Shirts off


In the sun.


Further out still

And houses are surrounded

By gardens being readied

For planting

crops for the kitchen


And the smell of cheese,


And unfurling leaves,

Covers the manure

And dirty diesel


Mostly anyway.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *