In October of 2003 I had the great fortune of traveling to Italy for 14 days with dear friends. The last day in Rome we were walking across the Piazza Navona and I spotted and glanced at a young boy who stood watch over a shiny new red bicycle.
That moment was a tiny fragment in the lives of two strangers; our eyes met and we both recognized and acknowledged what he was thinking and what I imagined he was thinking. This poem resulted from that memory.
Red Bicycle in Rome
Warrior wheels waiting for wings, a stationary fireball.
The red craft parked below worn wooden windows.
Close by a thin small boy, his eyes guard with mission.
The red bicycle monarch is tracking tourists
while planing adventures on his red Bianchi.
I bow, admire the craft and acknowledge the prince.
For a moment we are both where chariots fly
our eyes in tandem enjoying the ride in galaxies blue.
The nearby fountain distracts, its chatter gallops Italian loud
The prince and I smile, magnets pull across the piazza
we blink engaged in journey,
the joy secret until now.