All day long, people wait
and take shelter behind
the rain-line

in bays on the side-walk
along the Titanic Bar, no hope
of entrance nor of the end

of the long tears of rain
over the rough wall, the window
and the bars in front of the gaiety

inside, where I walk hand in hand
in slow circles around the band
over the black and the white

of tiles splashed with mud
also contra-clockwise and once
through the middle, non stop

looking at the singer, looking
if she looks back, without hope
that she will