in winter chill

in winter chill
14 youngsters
got off the city bus
orderly, quietly

the wee bundled
bunched together
like tiny sheep
so very well behaved

inside we old
smiled and chuckled
from warmth the sight
gave to our heart

the guys on the street

tired gino didn't sleep well
wears jeans with holes and red patches,
and new blonde leather desert boots,
looking forward to lunch, he is

tells some shape of pasta
i didn't understand
and tomato sauce.
he'll eat a lot and be sleepy

mailman on a motorbike stops
distributes packages into metal slots
says a few words to the locals
then continued up the street

i watched and leaned against the wall
contributed little to the conversations
did say it would rain this afternoon
the new local guy was interested

gino was not impressed, per usual
acted like he doesn't hear
has no expression, never does
yet, we're friends, everyone knows that

new guy talks with cinzia
romanesque friends saying nothings,
small talk together
signifying friendship

piccolo manuele struts in
wants to talk to new guy
who tells him, "ten minutes"
and brushes him away.

gino's elderly mother here today
day earlier than usual
he walks her toward franco's
whose wife is sister to Gino's mom

i am accepted now by manuale
he wasn't an ass today
we ignored each other
that's getting along on the street

mario whipped in, didn't speak
we will later, or some time.
he and i know we'll talk
when it happens, when necessary,

just now and then we do.
tough friends on the street.
for us, for the way it is
on via dei cappellari

i can't explain. where there is
no explanation for anything
it's not in the cards to matter
who's dealing or what deck is used.

manuele tries to get new guy away
again new guy holds up his hand
says, "ten minutes", turns his head;
piccolo rides away on his bicycle.



while writing this note
computer starts a scan
decides to reboot

i wait fifteen minutes
to see if the file i was working on
was lost.
it wasn't, this is it.

i suppose this is another
happy ending; though it depends
on how tough you're grading,
or how much pasta gino ate
sorry for the red herring,
just making conversation, poetically.