of bells and roses

Sunday morning in Pimlico

So quiet that from across the street I can hear a couple making love

Perhaps in the rumpled  aftermath they listen to the church bells

A carillon that soars and soars over silent rooftops

a celestial workout summoning angels from their beds

I am in a cafe trying not to listen to a man on his cell phone

Fat chance!

I know all his secrets

He thinks he has found a renter for his flat in Geneva

And better yet (are you listening?) he has the signatures of all the people in the revenue stream

Across the street a couple unsmiling emerges from a doorway

She is carrying red roses still wrapped in cellophane holding them downwards by the stems like a furled umbrella

Are they the ones?

The bells are silent

I can still hear them

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