Galata Tower, a la turca

ALLA TURCA

I could see you, on your lips were sticky words and you were insensitive

toward the cedar trees. You were looting the sea minarets and then leaving
them behind; the mother-of-pearl shells were aching.

In your beach bags a bit of Webster, eccentric! Marquez and
Ulysses never to be read…

As if Poseidon would appear from the waves. Excitement in your
flip-flops, blood in your napless eyes.

In your gin-induced comas you were dragging by the hair a poor old
man enamored of himself.

Orhan Alkaya
Translated by  Suat Karantay