from our window

let me put you in our window
in the old center of Roma, not on display,
just looking out where there’s action by day,
revelers by night, absolute quiet near dawn

under that arch and through the alley,
stands the Cancelleria, built upon fourth century ruins,
a grand church office, the first to be built in the new renaissance style,
fifteen years in the building, finished in 1495

when they were assembling that ivory travertine edifice,
the workers lived here, on this street,
an historical architect explained to me
they didn’t plan all of these old buildings

in the beginning these buildings where we live now.
were shacks, hastily built and covered with a tarp
then a roof was added later, and when they needed more,
they build a second floor, then a third, and yet it stands

look there, that guy with red pants passing now,
unkempt shoulder length and matted, thinning hair,
a beige sports coat over a tattered blue plaid sweater,
faded jeans, in unlashed dirty, scuffed work boots,

with a heavy gate he swaggers down our street,
oh my, oh my, a bohemian lifestyle prerequisite
to being someone, who wants to be
an important artist, or look like one

the guy is no Giancarlino
now he’s our local nutball artist,
come back in a hundred years and
you can read about him