Naples

You’ve said so many things in the course of your life
In trying to leave a record of where you have been.
But sitting on a hilltop with a man reluctant to be your friend
You count as a high point even though he has long since given up

Piloting ships in troubled waters. He doesn’t fish in them
Either, he went on, before you took a break to find a restroom.
None of the gangsters down the hill assaulted you,
Nor did their progeny outside the opera house where street cleaners

Gathered their wits for the night ahead. It was twilight by now.
The boats were coming in and the smell of burning meat
Was everywhere. Above us women in evening gowns and men
Coming toward them in the luster of their suits.

January 2007

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