WHERE POEMS RISE

I was in Delizia listening to Italian music, enjoying the conversation of four construction workers (three had been to Italy, one to Ecuador) when a man shuffled by whom I have seen numerous times. I felt a poem coming on. I researched Scoliosis as I thought that might be the cause of his extreme posture. I wanted to know his limitations, aspirations, possibilities.

THE BENT-OVER MAN

His view is dirt bound geological,

never seeing the stars.

Dimes, pennies, glass fragments, 

and muffin crumbs are like sunsets for him.

How did this happen? 

How long ago? 

Longing for deep breaths

into his constricted lungs,

could bursts of Pagliacci escape?

No one speaks.

Do treasure hunts comprise his daydreams--

a silver dollar, a feathered hat pin? 

Or maybe sleep brings remembrance

of sparkling tiger kites, limber, straight-backed,

 in the skies of his youth.

NEW ADDRESS

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