Last Wednesday on the Piazza
Near San Marco’s trecento Duomo
I observed una grassa ragazza
Within a thin, Middle Western nomo.

He was swatting a piccolo mosca
She was eating a chocolate gelato
While an orchestra played (from La Tosca)
A flat violin obligato.

They stared at a dusty piccione
They spoke not a single parole
She ordered some. Te con limn
He ordered an iced Coca-Cola.

And while the tramanto del sole
Set fire to the Grande Canale
She scribbled haphazard  parole
On Glazed Cartoline Postale.