here i am in the internet cafe
Roma
three Bangladeshi men
still smelling of sleep and last nights beer and sweat smell and
surround me
as I type.
they all live on matresses in the back room
they roll from sleep into the drafty basement.
they are discussing football scores
and getting ready for cappuncinni before brushing fur from teeth and limbs.
the brilliance of a computer career envisioned back home
bumping up against Rome rents and dreams deferred.
I am a regular now and they offer me honey candy as i enter.
yesterday awash with rain and rain and rain
synagogue in the morning
upstairs behind the grate
round the corner amidst crying babies and gosspiing matrons
every now and then an echo of men raising their voices in shout
would waft up and over the grate to us.
i asked a woman for the page number and she laughed
so it was just like home with the Jews..
multitasking, presence with amorphous details
until they become central.
the frisking at the gate. that was real.
from there a squishy walk to the bus station
lines and lines an lnes of the faithful waiting in line to see
St. Peter and the Vatican
i will have to come back to Rome
tho I have not tossed a coin in the Trevi Fountain.
kids involved in fist fight last night
slight discontent in the environs as the trip winds down
i have a day of errands and simplicity
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