Baixa. Alfima. Barrio Alto.
Tortured old streets and a boulevard
Of liberty beyond 24-hour CNN
Back in my room. On the outskirts
An enormous casino fronted by palms
And somewhere to the south the rumor
Of beaches where women are kissed
Naked by the Portuguese sun.But right now I’m doing business
At something called the Movijovem,
Where young people abound.
The girl—she can’t be anything more—
Is working the stalled computer, trying
To secure my booking for Lagos,
Assuring me, with a laugh, that I’m not
Too old for hostel lodgings.Above her, cantilevered, dance the women
Of MTV, distorted faces filling the screen.
Outside is where it’s at somehow,
A line of the elderly awaiting their lunch
At the seniors’ center.
I passed one such man on the way in,
Tieless in an old and worn suit,
Shuffling along in the vacancy of his days.October 2002