Don’t abandon me
By Colm Tóibín
If things are void of substanceand if this teeming Buenos Airesis no more than a dreammade up by souls in a common act of magic,there is an instantwhen its existence is gravely endangeredand that is the shuddering instant of daybreak
And on the spot like two mad bullsInto each other we tore;The man was quick, but a bit too rash,And a backhand slash soon settled his hash,And I left him grunting and thrashing about,With his tripes all over the floor.
Which of my cities will I die in?Geneva, where revelation came to meThrough Virgil and Tacitus, certainly not from Calvin?