a postcard scene no matter
which direction
you turned your head.
the ancient buildings,
the iconic gondolas,
the glass blowers,
St Marks, the pigeons
in the courtyard, priests
in black, lovers hand in
hand.
it was everything i imagined
it would be
until i asked for a coffee
to go at the cafe, where
i was yelled at by an old man
in a white shirt and bow
tie. hissed out of the store
by an angry crowd.
you too good for us? to stand
here and chat and drink
your espresso?
go home, American. go
home to your starbucks
and take out coffee.
jiminy crickets i said
out loud as they chased me
down the narrow corridors
and bridges.
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