Three Poems
Peter Porter, 20 December 1984
“... time until this year when suddenly Of all the history-pitted bits of Italy I found it most like home, a proper cage (Not Pound’s) to hold the aging spirit’s rage. Streets almost empty, traffic ice-cream slow, The silent squares out of de Chirico, All tourists heading for the Leaning Tower (The bars have yet to learn of Happy Hour) And history’s ghosts ... ”