Vanzetti’s Fish Cart di Justin Vitiello – Archivio Nat Scammacca
- all angels are created equal
I
Ethel was fat that’s why she was jolly (or maybe she was jolly so she was fat)
she came on over
one day I was sick (my mother worn thin around a watermelon belly told me a friend
was coming in to help)
I heard from a room hung
thick with cough
a mustard plaster laugh clomp-clomp up the stairs heave at the top (Statue of Liberty
steamer?)–bump-
bud-dey-ump-bump:
“nobody home”– in burst her head: a great black sun
II
sucking broom
a dance of dust
fingertips lobes of sweat and mop,
cutting steam kettle fogs (the antiseptic dusk of endless convalescence)
from my pillow hold I spied (she didnt mind the stare) cobras and mongeese and tomahawks banj oes and bongos and Uncle Remus blues and shined shoes and Aunt Jemima
when she chugged out (I hadnt spoken once)
I was still figuring
what medicine she took
to drown my taste
summer rain
| Poesia Senza Nome | |
I bambini si fidano di lui: gli
vogliono bene
sanno che, si vinca o no al bigliardino,
un gelato spunterà di sicuro prima che si
vada a letto e affamati o feriti
graviteranno intorno alla cucina dove lui
improvvisa sollievo per tutte le pene
salvaguardando la dignità di tutti …
“Giustino, come mai
solo i bambini possono piangere?
perchè solo i bambini
e qualche amico non tradisce?
perchè ci mettono le corna le donne,
ci fanno digrignare e azzannare
ma poi vogliono pagliacci che cercano
di piangere per farle ridere?
cosa capita quando diventiamo
uomini e donne?
perchè c’innamoriamo sempre
per poi cadere in disamore?
tu che sei filosofo, dimmi
di che pasta
la vita è fatta?”