Watching the watchers watch the dull spill
Of the Trevi fountain, I thought little
Thoughts of feeling lost, seeing the awe
In your face, while home’s beauty was growing
Without us, the freedom taken for granted,
The smell of closed flowers and Madigan’s Lane
Winding to a cul-de-sac bed, unlike Trevi,
Chained to the wall like old King Kong,
I saw how the waters reached high first,
To try and grab some great hook
Before falling with its eyes closed,
One great unseen eye, crying
We slept naked in separate beds, massaged
By a short, nodding, full-powered fan,
I loved the nights, it had no people,
You slept early to sooner see me, tired
As usual, having to put up with the cockiness
Of the great moaning pantheon, shoulders
Stretched back over its roof, the pillars
Of its ribs proudly and evenly spread,
Demanding all attention, my eyes
Fell in love with the humble ground,
When I turned my attention to you, a slight
Sense of impatience swept you into its lungs.
We made love on a rented couch, foreign
TV presenters paid to be perverse feigned
Their interest, and love was like a last resort
In a resort where there was nobody else to love
But each other, convinced, we came and went
Asleep, breeze-dried, plain as the potted plants
Dotted on the neighbours sills, Italy’s heart
Emptying a low, sanguine, late afternoon
Through our gaping window for hours,
We didn’t even notice, drawing both curtains
Across its wounds, unknowingly cauterising
The romance that we sailed there on to begin with.
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