On the Eve of Autumn
The last vacationers sit in front of windows with
crossed arms
the few in love and dry leaves sit on benches
of gardens
When the coach was heard from the road
no one went down to open
only a dog came out of the door
and looked straight in the eyes of the afternoon
Perhaps she was in there the sick lady
who is always cold and holds a bouquet of violets
on her knees
It was she – the hotel manager said and spat out the window
Then he wiped his lips and closed the shutters
Manolis Aligizakis 