We moored at dusk. The gangway clanked & swayed 
                 beneath my weight, Vesuvius a blue 

ghost at my back as I walked into Naples
                 on the seawall. Threads of laughter floated

toward me from a gathering below
                 the great, black towers of Castel Nuovo. 

Soon I saw a platinum blonde, in heels 
                 & stockings, standing at the center of

a throng of my shipmates, some of them clutching twenties. 
                 This was April 1975.


Subscribe to RSS - Poetry