AH ROMA!

I skimmed across you like a swallow,

sipped your flavours not tasting them until

one day when the Spanish steps

were hidden behind

a huge advertisement for

a stylish unwearable shoe.

I went next door, climbed

five flights of narrow stairs

to where Shelley once lived

quiet above your clamour.

and my writer’s heart sang.

Ah Roma!

That night we dined bel canto

waiters sang opera while we drank wine.

Later the pianist played Waltzing Matilda.

I asked him for a New Zealand song and

he looked bewildered so quietly

I sang the opening bars of

‘Po-kare-kare.’

He grabbed my wrist, dragged

me to the piano. ‘You sing, I play,’

He ordered and we did.

The diners were kind. They

Cheered and clapped and that

was the closest an old lady

could ever get to orgasm.

Ah Roma!