The Road to Salamanca

A free verse poem by Antony Fawcus

Image curtesy of Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation)

We drove to Salamanca, you and I,

a bleak greyness of snow on distant mountains,

the foreground rocky, harsh and unforgiving,

a landscape of grey-green ghosts and pining.

A solitary bull breathed thin vapour

across our final olive grove,

and fog swirled, licking at the edges

of our relationship.

The ancient town

disgorged

a soup of salt cod, spinach and chick peas

the last vestige of warmth

as daylight drained from the cobbled streets

and left us to face our reality.