I had to make a quick visit to Madrid yesterday to sign some papers, but fled back to the village as quickly as I could. A considerable amount of the time I was in the city was actually spent travelling on the metro.
This poem dates from at least six years ago, but I remembered it as the air-conditioning on the metro doesn’t seem to have improved at all.
Fat Woman on the Metro
Her fan is silk and lace – a butterfly
whose coloured wings flick
and furl coquettishly. Crimplene
caresses curves as tenderly
as any lover’s hand; she wears pearls
of sweat at wrist and neck.
don't confuse the narrator 
I know that poems are best read in silence, but as I looked at Fat Woman on the Metro a bird singing an aria from Tosca came on the Mac, and it worked so well, that I read the poem again to it. Good combo!
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I suspect the actual background music on the metro might have been Peruvian panpipes, (or a very tinny rendition of Una Paloma Blanca) but Tosca sounds good, too.
Glad you enjoyed it.
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