Cinque Terre

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The trains they come, they go each hour

so the crowds can watch the sun ricocheting off the sea.

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Anyone would fall silent to the juxtapositions

Cliffs razor sharp and buildings upright and vibrant

Five villages speaking the language of age

Fronted by the undulating cool sea of blue

And the birds cawing over dropped lunch

And tourists.

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Easing on down to the marina

The tide is out, the boats are not, yet.

The rust and the fuel, the sails of coloured sheets.

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A wise old cat emerges from the cafe

Looking for sun, looking for anchovies, looking for affection

But

No one is paying attention outside their indulgent world of selfies.

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