No sympathy

The knee I should have had
replaced tells me to suck it up
as I stagger over cobblestones
that mock me with taunts
about stronger men than me
they’ve taken down:
medieval giants, their joints
ground down to bone meal –
left aching, no painkiller
except for drink and ultimately,
death, to deliver them —
until then, no sympathy

 

 

 

 

©Daniel von der Embse

A matter of when

The little place in Italy is still there
brand new, beautiful view – empty now

but in the summer there are artists everywhere
and musicians and people fill the village streets

until it is time to leave town to the hundred or so
fulltime souls and many more pigeons

The Carabinieri keep watch but there is no crime
except the noisy dog belonging to the chief,

immune from prosecution for disturbing the peace
At Christmas, they open the church of St Illuminata,

putting lights upon on every available eave and sill
so that seen from the valley, town appears twinkly

It is here that a place waits among the olive groves,
asking when, when will we be coming home?

Just a few more things to finish first – one last letter
to write, a final chapter to send, and then … then …

 

 

 

©Daniel von der Embse