It was in some town in Italy,
High-up,
So we
Could stand 
This summer’s heat wave.
It had not rained in ten days. 
We stayed at an albergo
Where the locks
On the doors
Would not work,
And the door
To the balcony
That extended
The length of the building
Was not there.
Instead, brown leather
Flapped in the wind.
We felt secure
In this small town
In Italy, for it
Was not our home
On North Jefferson
In Tampa, where
Each door had three locks,
All the windows, burglar bars.
 
We walked up to see
If any wine still remained
In the bottles
Stacked behind the bar.
We found statues of
Snow White and the seven dwarves .
All the dwarves  remained
The same, but someone
Had repainted Snow White
To resemble a nude Venus.
Perhaps it was a joke,
Perhaps it was a desire;
The Italian mind is hard
For Americans to understand.

© 2004 by Duane Locke. All rights reserved.