Venezia

This morning I find myself

in a strange and exquisite garden,

hung-over from last night’s indulgences.

My limbs unfurl, uncurl,

my tongue leaps out with a deep dank yawn.

Where am I now?

I rise and refresh in a nearby fountain,

then get to steppin’ again,

past rose-tinted lanterns, crooked buildings,

and flocks of pigeons.

I’ve had my share of gondola and vaporetto rides,

stowing away when necessary,

however the best way to see my city is by foot.

My own pad along on the cool cobblestones.

The rising sun tells me I’m right on time

for breakfast at Signora Gianfranco’s.

Every morning she cooks enough to feed an army,

so I happily help her with the leftovers.

“Zanebono!  Vieni gattone!  Beo Zanebono!”

Signora calls me Zanebono, the good one.

Actually, it’s Nino.

She passes me a mini-frittata with shrimp and cheese,

which I devour on the portale.

Afterward, meandering toward the Canal Grande

through Piazza San Marco,

I remember an intoxicated evening,

not dissimilar to the last,

when I climbed to the top of the ancient basilica

to sit upon one of those bronze horses

in hopes of impressing some bellissimo women.

Today I simply climb up on a sunny muro

to bask in the tangerine glow

of a Mediterranean morning.

Church bells chime, water slaps against moored boats

of black and blue floating in green.

Graciously I make myself available

for a photo or coccolo from the endless stream

of charmed passersby.

This lovely city of mine is fish-shaped.

I was born in its beating heart.

Medieval and magical is the sestiere of San Polo.

Mazes of tiny calles all eventually lead

to the Canalasso.

My favorite haunt is our renowned fish market.

Stall after stall chock full of fresh fish, shellfish,

and other creatures from the

Adriatic Sea and Venetian Lagoon.

Back on the prowl I pass painters en plein air, and

shop windows brimming with glorious glass and ornate

carnivale masks.

A favorite time of year here for many is carnivale.

Masquerading affords freedom from the bounds

of identity, from the human mind,

liberating people to pursue

decadent or promiscuous endeavors,

cloaked under spectacular suns and moons,

joker grins, dramatic human faces, and

animali of every imaginable sort,

from buzzards to dragons – the most popular being

the gatteo, the cat.

Cats are revered here, not only for

feasting on plague-ridden rodents, but also

as enduring symbols of freedom and serenity.

Peering through the hovering mist of the canal I see

those emerald eyes peering back at me.

I recognize their mischievous sparkle

as she slinks in and out of shadows.

I have been waiting to see her again.

Sophia purrs my name and I’m over the moon!

We wander the streets for a spell

and come to perch on one of countless bridges.

Lights dance along the water’s surface,

“Oy Oy!” comes another gondolier.

Navigating the narrow canal

he squats to fit under this little bridge.

People above join him as he serenades

his cargo of lovers.

Amore washes over me as Sophia spontaneously

curves her body to brush against mine.

The mood strikes to bite the dog that bit me.

We stroll to Beppino’s, for I know he is generous,

and his patch is ripe.

Sweet Sophia is up for some frantic fun, and we

chomp catnip until we badger dogs in the moonlight.

Afterward, feasting on fish heads under

the pier down from La Zucca’s,

chamber music wafts by on a breeze.

In Lion City cats have free reign.