ROME 1993.

A WOMAN IN ROME AND HER THOUGHTS OF ROMANTIC LOVE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Outside of this your
Italian Rome
Vacation, you’d not

 

Spend time reading books
Or magazines; you’d
Mostly be at the

 

Office with other
Girls choring away
On paper and pen

 

Or word processing the
Work straight through. Jacob
Is out sightseeing

 

Alone. You’re sitting
In the hotel room,
Scanning pages of

 

Some magazine and
Keeping as much as
Possible from mind,

 

The Italian
Who’d whistled and winked
As you passed by the

 

Evening before.
Can’t recall his name.
Made you feel young once

 

Again. Feel wanted.
Feel sexy. Jacob’s
Given all that up

 

Now. That side of your
Married life. You turn
The pages of the

 

Foreign magazine,
View the colourful
Photographs. The bright

 

Images. You sit
On the edge of the
Bed and wonder if

 

The Italian
Would have done if asked
Or permitted. Some

 

Café; small talk, a
Joke or two. Coffee
Or wine. You wonder

 

What his kisses would
Have been like, his firm
Caresses. Pure sex

 

All over again
In a sensual
New way. Jacob’s a

 

Dud. Shot though with his
Job, his career, the
New post, the boss’s

 

100%
Arselicker. You close
The magazine and

 

Close your eyes; lay back
On the bed and play
The scene with you and

 

The Italian
Making love in bed
All over again.

Reviews

[just rose.]

Wonderful. And so true. The capital letters at the beginning of lines are jarring for me though. The sensuality of this poem invites almost an entirely lower-case treatment, an informality, perhaps, like the sliding of silk across skin. I wonder if that is deliberate in the way that she seeks to keep herself orderly with this very rich and erotic inner life she's expressing.