- Vol. 08
- Chapter 09
As the sun slips, letting in another night
and our white leghorn struts back home,
place our wooden chairs in the far field.
Light the camping kettle on an open fire.
Leave it to bubble, boil and steam so that
its tin spout whistles along with us as we
strum and squeeze out accordion tunes
shipped in, in waves, to this strange land.
Let our singing haunt us, evoking summers
in those pizzerias with red linen tablecloths,
set by lakes, by palazzi, by glistening canals.
One day, we will, once more, pile plates high
with artisan tomato pasta, served with fresh
basil on a far-off shore. Till then, let us chew
supermarket ciabatta, unscrew our bottle of
special offer vino rosso, and picnic in the rain.