stolen horse

in light late afternoon chill rain
M. went to Standa to pick up things for diner
she’ll make pasta carbonara
carried a shoulder bag and an umbrella

bused up a few blocks
temperatures were dropping
she wore a hat pulled low
in gusts i started out to Alberto’s studio

along the way a couple called out
asked directions to Via Corso
i told them, pointed, down that way it begins
by the large monument at Piazza Venezia

then i walked out into heavy traffic
i was waiting for the light to change
must have forgotten, was distracted
from both directions cars were honking

made it calmly without incident,
and some embarrassment i digested
at that time
M. was carrying her loaded shopping bag

walking back across the bridge of angels
in front of the old castle San Angelo
there was an art show this weekend
Alberto told me his wife couldn’t go

because their five year old son
had homework to do
he said always there is too much homework
on the way home i saw Franco, age 67,

an Italian born in Libya
a persistent worker who lives miles away,
we crossed paths at the same corner in piazza Campo dei Fiori
near where he does inlay and waxing

fine detail in centuries old wood work
bought him coffee at the corner bar
he said a week ago gypsies stole
the cover for his motor bike

the evening before it disappeared
he saw the father and son checking it out
this weekend his motor bike,
his ride to work, was stolen

devastated, though tried not to show it
thievery is an invasion that strikes at the heart
i said it was like someone stealing his horse
he agreed, sadly, he agreed

we parted, i wished him well
by the time M. made it safely home
i did also, under city lights
and yes, her carbonara was outstanding