The first day I saw this town
I came down the mountain road
Past the old border post, closed now.
The road-signs were in two languages
And the deer were feeding, away
On the far side of the valley,
Pausing and inching forward like photographers.
I slowed and paused and let the car slide forward
Again, the engine off and the gears loose,
Braking and pausing all the way
As far as the first houses and walled gardens.
The wind blew steadily, brushing
Every scrap of paper across the square.
There were rags of many colours
Bundled and packed on the trucks
In the railway siding. A gypsy woman lay
Where she had been struck down beside the bridge.
The ambulance stood by. The money changers
Had closed up their shops for the day.
The same as today, the rushing grey river
Tore downhill past the factory. Somewhere two streets away
It was Saturday and the immigrant weddings were feasted
Behind garden walls with sweet almond milk and loud music.