Maybe Thomas Wolfe was right about going home,
or maybe he wasn’t. But we’re as sure as certain
there’s no going back to del Trivio for a curtain
call. So il pronzo instead at the end of the line.

La Taverna del Pescatore: a mighty nice find,
however baffled I was by the way it was lined.

My wife just must be very hip,
’cause her latest tops never fit

inside their rectangular suitcase.
Fashion would be square, I guess,

If it weren’t tailored on the bias.
So into the in-crowd it all goes.

Like some rough beasts, their hour come round at last,
Romulus and Remus strolled down the Corso, right past

La Cioccolateria. Why, O why, with all the time on Sunday,
Didn’t I reach for my phone to save the proof that one day

twin brothers, suckled by a she-wolf, passed before me
(as clueless as I could be to their exact genetical species).

Here I am, practicing my pitiful Italian.
As for Rebecca? She has other designs.