Tourist Poem by June Stepansky

Sometimes, in the night
I can still feel the heat of a man’s eyes
from across the plaza in Nauplia, Greece.
It was the softest of summer nights,
and he watched with his hot eyes
as couples strolled the promenade.

Or was it in Granada, Spain or in Morocco
that I saw, or thought I saw
a furtive glance, a quiet fire.
Or yet again around a rooftop pool in Tel Aviv,
someone watching
from behind his sunglasses.

The memory of exotic eyes in exotic places
Sometimes, in the night
can still cause
reverberations.