on the streets

on a mission for pistachios
absorbed in filtered exhilaration by the beating heart of the city
i waited for a bus
i had on a black t-shirt
an artists bag over my shoulder

an italian couple approached
"do you have a cigarette?" he asked
i held up mine i was smoking and said, "this one. I'm quitting."
then she asked bus information to via nationale

a couple in a passing car stopped on the busy street to shout over a demand for directions to the termini
i must have looked like the information guy

then a pair of french women in passable italian wanted to know how to get to the coliseum as my bus, seventy, approached
theirs, the eighty-seven, was right behind
"take the eighty-seven" i pointed

the final query of the day came later as
i left the old esquilino market
this from an older unkempt guy holding something, a pamphlet?
i nodded him off when he asked if i was a roman

though i like to talk
what he had to say i didn't need
it is necessary to qualify even the inquisitors
while bearing the necessary resignation of existence
on the streets of roma