From a Tent in Italy


In the camp of dreams he s sitting on his balcony
in Aleppo
the lights of his city now dimmed
the street blackened and empty

the clatter of crockery indicating life goes on somewhere
in the dark
a distant rifle shot
a shell preceded by an ominous whistle

for someone is leaving the planet
a child perhaps, his mother waiting for him
her throat dry, knowing not his fate
perhaps already a shroud

The old man stares from an Italian tent
plucking an oud; across the road a bakery
missing the scent of rose water and pistachio
the picture album in his mind needing revision.




About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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