on my way back to Rome
a fire on the tracks
we had to be reorganised
into disorganised replacement buses
the wind blew hot and sexy
softly drying our skin
the birds sang in the trees
cheering our hearts up
mix all the medium-sized chaos
and all the delays
all the lack of communication
you can expect from my country
and give it a good stir!
my people will reveal for you
their nicest tricks
their funniest pantomimes
and all their best cliches
“this is a disgrace!”
“it is THEIR fault!”
“these kids have no manners!”
“this heat is unholy!”
we run on top of each other
which indeed is a disgrace
but we also hold each other
brothers and sister in distress
with a pinch of distance
and a deep breath
with a handful of patience
and a back seat
characters and types
familiar to anyone
who’s often on our regional trains
show up so nicely
the preachy old lady
who lives abroad, talks a lot
and listens to no one
in love with her open mindedness
the man who’s superior
yelling on the phone
just so he can complain out loud
for everyone to hear
the kind joker with a nephew
smarter than his years
his embarrassment showing through
the deep love for his uncle
the annoying businessman
air pod stuck in an ear
complaining, of course,
about the uncivilised south
the tourist family of five
confused by the heath, our secrecy
the announcements strictly in Italian
all running here and there
the sweet middle-aged woman
who reminds me of my mum
and some of her friends
who lends me her scarf against the ac
the tired old janitor
silent, baked by the sun
patiently waiting
for this second shift to be over
the entrepreneurial kid
well dressed and smelling of shampoo
who asks our bus driver
to take us straight to Rome
we laugh (at him) we smile
we give each other water
and offer a tired ear
which we normally wouldn’t
and when our destination
is finally reached
our hearts are a little broken
about letting you all go.
Wolfin' Around 
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