Almanac Poetry: Winter train to Balaclava

 

 

 

The Sandy train got stuck at Balaclava
Something broken, the door stuck open
My ears cold, my nose and toes cold too

 

So I hopped off and found a menswear shop
Spied a woollen beanie pink and warm
But it wouldn’t stretch below my ears.

 

The shop guy snatched it back. I said
I don’t suppose you sell balaclavas?

 

We sell beanies and mittens
and scarves and hats but not balaclavas.
Just because we live in Balaclava
doesn’t mean we have to sell them.

 

I read his badge and said – just because your name
says Trevor, doesn’t mean you’re not a moron.
His eyes blazed, his ears steamed

 

I made a run for it, across the street
into Zorba’s café, straight down the back
took a newspaper, and hid behind that.

 

Over floats a curly long-haired waitress
I said I’ll have a strong curly long black
Anything else? she said.
Perhaps, something sweet?

 

I don’t suppose you sell Baklavas?
Of course, she said. We’ve got the best
Baklava in Balaclava.

 

I’ll have two, I said
Two of the best Baklavas in Balaclava
One for each ear.

 

 

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