My First Evening in Madrid
by Angela Cotterman
It is late evening and our stomachs
remind us that we're Americans and growl
our hunger three hours too early to dine
formally in Madrid, but we find wine
and tapas on avenues named after
Franco-like generals, long dead. It's enough
to cause us to forget ourselves--the tastes
on our tongues masks so readily our words.
At the stadium, some distance away,
the local football team scores goals; the air
holds this revelry in the very way
it settles around the people walking
in the streets. All of Madrid rises
and falls like children on a carousel.
Posted on 05/05/2011
Copyright © 2019 Angela Cotterman
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/05/11 at 10:15 PM|
...angela, if i can be nostagic over something i've only vicariously experienced, well...i am. what a snapshot of a lifetime moment[s]...
|Posted by Linda Fuller on 05/09/11 at 10:51 PM|
Awakening my dormant wanderlust - terrific concluding image.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/11/19 at 09:18 PM|
I agree with the first two comments. Quite the poetic snapshot you're provided here Angela. Congrats on POTD!