Centro Storico

In narrow, labyrinthine
medieval back-ways,
old women sit and wait
at open doors.

‘Perso?’ one asks,
seeing I look lost.

The sun has almost dried
the step she has just washed.
Crow-like in black,
she directs me in dialect,
and empties her bucket
in the central gulley,
once an open sewer,
then sits at her door to wait.
There is nothing else to do.

Past complaining about the past,
the old men in the piazza
stand in their places and wait.
There is nothing else to do.

Past worrying about the future,
the ragazzi loiter in the wings,
and wait for their cue.
There is nothing else to do.

.

Reviews

[CD Campbell]

It's quite an art to combine flowing words around municipal Rome with ending lines of despair. You paint what seems to be romantic medieval back alleys with everything that could be wrong with romantic medieval back alleys. I guess it's to be expected that the aging poor would devolve into a mundane existence, but the raggazzi, the young men loitering, is to be a symptom of a dieing kingdom which you so eloquently expressed in between the lines. Nice work by you. Liked the repetition of "there is nothing else to do". Drives home your point.

[Gerald Parker]

Not Rome. I wrote this poem about a small townin Puglia called Monte Sant'Angelo, typical of most small towns in Southern Italy. Work is difficult ot get, or there is none, Many young people migrate to the North for work or emigrate if they can. Pleased you liked it. Thanks.

[CD Campbell]

This probably wont be the last time google leads me astray. Ha Thanks for the correction. Have a good day.