Night Tourists, Bratislava by Matt Gilbert

Night Tourists, Bratislava

A wooden gate, dilapidated frame,

intrigues us enough, to pull away

from the gravity of old town’s bustling

main drag. Break the unwritten rule

of tourist-pretty cities:

crowds must stick close to themselves.

This slouching house, appears bereft.

Vacant, except for a disdainful cat.

The hopeless porter, dozes, but

interrupted, signals its displeasure

with venomous tail flicks.

As another creature joins us, emerges

from a hole, beneath a fence next door.

Ineffectual lighting has sucked all colour

from the street, re-casts the arrival

as an animated negative of itself.

Ectoplasm-white, against dark cobble.

Too slow for a rat, too round and spiked,

in fact, to be anything but Hedgehog.

Committed to a raid on the sentry’s silver

bowls. Then a second, trots out onto stage,

to conduct a solemn encore, before retreating

back to silence in the shade; the rotten

dereliction of an apple-coated garden.

Matt Gilbert is from Bristol, but currently gets his fill of urban hills in South East London. He’s had poems published by Dust, Finished Creatures, Full House Literary and The Rialto among others. His debut collection ‘Street Sailing’ came out with Black Bough Poetry in 2023.