The seats were covered in snow in February,

and the screech of trams as they passed Lavov Most,

Lion’s Bridge, muffled the water of the Vladaya.  
A woman walks in red heels outside a bakery.

The old communist buildings are tattered.

In winter there was ice on leaves, and stray cats

sat on an outdoor heater; the sky was dark. 
It is still hot in September; no fur coats,

no chimney smoke. In the markets,

celeriac for 2.50 leva a kilo, chestnuts for 5,

plums for 1. Taps and leather bags.
I want to sell you something, a man says.

We have knives for everything. For cutting,

for chopping. Even for killing. He laughs.
An electric bus stops outside the Zhenski Pazar.

In a butcher’s shop, pigs’ trotters

and a head with its tongue hanging out. 
The lions on Lavov Most have no tongues;

to guard secrets, some say, and ghosts.

A woman feeds a stray cat; looks sideways

to see if anyone has seen her.