We’re here. We know it. Now everybody
else must. Gothic St Maria’s, the perfect
backdrop for Gale’s hair. And all this piazza stone,
bright, rain-washed enough to make me handsome.
The river’s brown though fetching but
I don’t think we can fit it in the frame.
Nor the bridge with those carved cherubs
floating in its arch. Pity that.
Quick now. While the sun is out and there’s no
pigeons flocking in the fountain. The
crowd is thin. The spray is full. So what if you’re a
stranger and will never know the jealous audience
for whom this picture is intended.
Your hands are free aren’t they. Your time’s available.
We’re smiling. Aim and click.
I swear the ones back home won’t blame you.