In Carini

J. Kenny

each afternoon on that ancient dusty hill 
in a square of smooth slippery stone
a crowd gathers in front of a church 
for a funeral or wedding.
the only difference is how the crowd greet 
the man in the suit at the top of the 
marble steps worn by the
footsteps of mourners 
and brides.
and you and i walked up the sun stroke hill 
with our wine and arancini in a paper bag 
clear from the grease
and our shirts sticking to our back
then we’d eat those fresh tomatoes and fleshy olives 
marinated in summer’s sweat, oil soaked bread
with the cheese and dark sundried blood wine 
watching from the kitchen balcony
while the nero d’avola sun shines on that weary square.
in the small room we lay breathing heavy 
that late summer afternoon sicilian air 
while the tv ran dubbed reruns
of decades old cop shows
and you stood on the balcony in your underwear 
listening to the man yelling out the prices of fish.
and I waited for you to come back 
to bed where you make me
feel so 

J. Kenny is a writer and composer working in Berlin. His freelance writing, stories and poems have been featured in publications in Australia, Germany, the UK and the US. Themes of identity and subjectivity feature heavily in his writing. His collaborative soundtrack work has featured in short films and art installations in Germany, Finland, the Netherlands, Japan and South Korea. He plays bass in Berlin punk rock Dead Sentries. Twitter @thejknny.