poem of the day 07.03.12

under the tuscan sundress

she looks like one of those cinematic

raven haired italian chicks

created to stop the heart

but she’s speaking pigeon english to the boy

across from her

pressing her purple sundress

talking about the university

as he rubs her ankles

kisses her feet

occasionally she’ll look over to me

and smirk in an unkind way

frown or furrow her brow

it’s okay, i think

i know she knows that i’m the ugly american

on this train

spoiling the tuscan landscape

with my baseball cap and mcdonald’s bag

but i’m too tired to try and act like i belong

it’s too taxing to try and hide oneself in europe

all of the time

to not be so american on these ancient streets

when that poison oozes so easily

out of every pore

let her look

let her talk that college talk to her boy

as vineyards

and homes tucked into green mountains

roll by the train window

let this girl think what she wants to think about me

anything she wants

just so long as she doesn’t put her knee down

because this chick isn’t wearing

any underwear

and i’ve been staring at her cunt since rome

memorizing its twirl of hair

its every contour

the way an art scholar would

the david

the sistine chapel

caravaggio’s the calling of st. matthew

or any of that other shit

that i came to this country

to see.