Abandoned like an unloved pet
just outside the outskirts of Rio
underneath some of the white
washed slums
you told me to wait there
while you went for help,
But of course you never returned
discarding all responsibility
glistening in the moonlight
returning to your car
and driving off like a panic led sprinter
before I realised,
Flying through the night
across Copacabana beach
pressing your hands
on the wheels like Excalibur
rising from the ground
before freezing halfway,
Cut and pasting your fear
with each mile
unsure which way next
across the sea front
towards the edge of the
Sugarloaf Mountain,
Then hiding in the shadows
of the Art Museum
in Sao Paulo,
before then running
to the booths of
the Se Church in Sao Luis,
Among the Market sellers of
the Porto Allegra Public Market
in Rio Grande do Sol
trading monies for
blankets and hats,
in a vein attempt to disguise yourself
To smaller, less known places
Like all the way down
To Boa Vista
Where your car finally died,
And the Wreck of the Santa Maria
Where you was tempted to hide in
Or hide in the now
dis-used lighthouse
on Morro Negro,
and watch the sunrise go up and down
each morning
until you went stir crazy,
Full well knowing
I would caught up with you
sooner or later
no matter
which way you ran
Eventually.
(An Writing Exercise at my writing workshop 'Writers of the third kind' designed to play a famous literature character in a total different location)
