top of page


There’s a shiny red one in the parking lot
behind the Cleveland Public Library
and for a moment I want to step out
of my comfy old life, straddle
that dangerous red machine
and kick start it—adesso!—into life
as Audrey Hepburn—no, Sophia Loren—
runs out of the little deli with a baguette
and cheese and a bottle of Sangiovese,
jumps on behind me and away we go
to the olive groves of Tuscany
where we will spread the blanket,
open the wine, and I will lie there
with my head on her lap as she feeds me
the bread and cheese, all the while 
reciting my poetry (of course it’s my poetry;
whose fantasy do you think this is?)
in that delightful accent of hers.

—from Central Air, available on Amazon.


“I’ve always felt that Sophia Loren and I were fated to find happiness together. Yet fate, as is so often the case, somehow screwed things up.”

Share this poem to your social media page:

  • Vespa
bottom of page