Alone, I went into that special little windowless bar near Rialto market, said to be the oldest of its kind in Venice; ordered -- with exaggerated ease (like an exhibitionist bullfighter waving his muleta unnecessarily) -- a @3tocai@1 and began to eat the sausages from the tray, just like the regulars do, attempting to feel Venetian. It didn't work. The fish at the end of the line finishes itself by pulling against it. The bartender overcharged me as though I were a tourist. Had I not lived here a long, long time? Then I returned a week later, quite by chance, with A., who's very, very Venetian, classy and quick. We had our @3tocai@1 and sausage together. Two fishermen in the alley outside were laughing happily. The bartender gave me, like a present, his biggest smile. I felt the Great Blue River running through my veins. I was a way I had never been before. A. and I had our @3tocai@1 again and the bartender insisted we have thirds on him. With a light head and happy at noon, I walked home the busy way and found P. making lunch. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: THE VILLAGE ATHEIST by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE PHOSPHORESCENT MAN by KAREN SWENSON LOVERS, AND A REFLECTION by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 23 by THOMAS CAMPION A BANJO SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE QUILTING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR |