Confessional

A woman on the street
In Florence
Taking signatures for
A petition
To help end drugs and aids
Made a pass at me
While telling me how
Famous Pittsburgh is,

And that I do not
Look American.
I guess I did catch some sun
That day.

Anyway, she looked me up
And down.

I
Accepted her offer to learn
A little Italian,
But remained clueless as to what
        and what it was
That any of this really meant.
        anyway,

After some negotiation we reached our terms.
So naturally,
I
            gave her a twenty and
Ran straight
Inside San Gaetano
Dodging carelessly down the
Bus lane

-p. Conners Jr.
Florence, May 22, 2012

Victims

I'm wearing beige Khakis, a maroon T, Red Vans, with an orange Hoody tied around my waist While a woman with Cropped black hair Walks under me In a white T announcing No More Fashion Victims. I wonder where in Florence I have ended up. And how long have I been sitting on This wall? A man rows his thin Boat down the Arno backwards. My back and ass hurt. It's time to find A balcony And more wine. Possibly a taxi?

p. Conners Jr.
Florence, May 22, 2012

A White Crane

I saw her swooping
In while I sat on the
Ledge on top of the wall
Before the Arno river, sparkling
In midday.
She fell into the water
Soundless and soft
Stayed still for a
Minute then into the
Reeds I lost her.
I returned to Bukowski
He told me
To get used to it.
The crane was seen for
A moment again before
Sailing off under
Arched bridges of
Heavy stone.
I've felt
Shame and accomplishment
Before.

-p. Conners Jr, Florence
May, 22 2012

Merry Stories and Funny Pictures

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/12116/12116-h/12116-h.htm

The garage had once more
Been transformed into a butcher’s shop.
Was I fourteen or nine?
A young man or a boy?
Was it a Sunday?
     It was if it adds magnitude.

What happens in a year is forgettable;
What happens in a minute lasts our whole lives.
My father gutting squirrels
Hands me the liquid red knife.
Squeamish, I drop it, and I run.

-Patrick Conners Jr

Shaving - Charles Simic

Child of sorrow.
Old snotnose.
Stray scrap from the table of the gods.
Toothless monkey.
Workhorse,
Wheezing there,
Coughing too.

The trouble with you is,
Your body and soul
Don't get along well together.
Pigsty for a brain,
Stop them from making faces at each other
In the mirror!
Then, remove the silly angel wings
From your gorilla suit.

-Charles Simic, Shaving

Calvino told me that I better get used to reflections;
A reliance on metaphors confirms this.

It is as though we write the same poem endlessly
To ourselves, only we try to cover it up by
Changing our words around.

We weigh nothing. Weight comes from the outside.
They put it on us. They shovel us full of concrete,
Which without we would merely float into the sun.

Calvino, lightness, you know what I'm saying,
Dont you?
The ghost is weightless, except for her anguish.

~pjc jr 2/6/12