MEETING AN OLD FRIEND FOR LUNCH
After being away all summer,
I’m eager to meet with my friend
and show him the 42 poems I wrote.
I see a parking spot on a busy street
in front of our BYOB Fontana di Trevi
where we regularly gorged ourselves on
the most delicious dish of seafood salad
this side of Sicily. I spy a parking space
and step on the gas to race around
the block and snag the spot. Seated,
I sip a glass of Montepulciano wine,
and keep looking at my watch,
waiting for my punctual friend—
until I remember he died last year.