Sought hither and, once translated, then yon.

Amid researching The Overstory, a cultivar arose unbid.

Outside Teatro Caio Melissa, where more than one of us is Google translating the text?
Or inside the house, finally, where the plastic upstages the lips?

Or in the intricate details of the next morning’s enlightening review?

Don’t let the extra cup fool you. An Italian acolyte is readying up his first caffè.

I’ve always been a postulant at the font of knowledge.
Still U have to draw the line somewhere short of diss.

Like the one my wife delivered in the clothing store, a
punchline (in her best Italian) about the habits of men

Gladly shared with the young, obliging and native clerk.
Women who shop with us, it seems, believe we’re jerks.

Rome’s Il Messaggero (so far as I know)
Is nothing more than an “ordinary paper.”

Every day, it prints all the news that fits
In two sections of sixty some-odd pages.

Except the thing is there’s no shrink-wrap
Of time/life the way we do it in the states.

What paper of ours would consider it news
When a Danish philosopher has a birthday?

A follow up: What’s more iconic: a) the bite, or b) the Munch?

Search Google all that U want.
It takes an accomplished hand,
Sometimes, to take the measure
Of a decidedly foreign technology.

On market day, the bargain hunters traverse this street in droves.