Quid Quo Pro

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I.

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Sitting on a hotel terrace, smoke fills the valley like a shroud.

In the distance, a dome floats serenely, ancient but proud.

I point and launch into a joke, hoping to lift your mood.

You don't want to hear it and respond with something crude.

I try again despite myself, tired of this dance,

and turn as you walk away without a backward glance.

 

II.

 

At a café near the Pantheon, waiting for a date.

Her name is Veronica, she’s only twenty-eight.

She studies poetry in Bologna, her heart set on the States.

I told her I could help, I know a dean at Bates.

We've agreed to meet for a drink, I’m wondering what she’ll wear.

I could text and tell you about it, but I doubt you’d even care.

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