explosion of good time

still in bed
woke to worker’s
voices in the hall.
amid the banter

one called softly, “Jack”
the voice of my dad
only it wasn’t, or was it.
who can tell

though it was enough
to make me smile,
remember and feel warm
somewhere deep

b.

the two guys from Romania
are quiet good workers
the kid, twenty
is a Bugie

in Italian, our common language, i question.
he’s from Bulgaria, they respond
as if that explained his immaturity,
and being consistently noisy.

c.

explosion of good time
we left home
packed for shopping
off in a rush

Esquilino Market they serve
fast with plastic bags,
paper and crowds, trucks unloading,
wooden crates, moving faces and sales

a background of green leaves, no music,
light talk humming like chicadas.
had coffee and a sweet roll
coffee man and his wife recognized us

red egg yoke lady
in good tune
spoke to M. about how to
make a tasty frappe for Carnevale

got two large plantains at another stall
not bananas you know, she said
i hope not, i replied
i'm going to fry one with an egg

a call to alert - make way
for a box-loaded hand cart
a small man
pushing metal on wheels through

many greens, hand cut minestrone,
hot peppers and nuts we bag away
a moray eel we saw but
did not take one home

moves like a city ghost
rides like a bumpy carriage
over cobblestones
our practically private bus

cause our car has found parking
too sweet to vacate
alberto has re attached a side mirror
for some other to scrape off again

and Friday the soggiorno went well
all persons helpful for us to live here
call them kind
Roma loves us again