Poem for Saturday, March 1, 2014 (2)

Improvising

When she said she longed for Venice,
I quietly stepped out and returned
minutes later, hands burdened with two
paper bags: one containing discount pasta
and tomato sauce, one containing boxed
wine and a single taper candle.

I brought her to the table, set a plate
in front of her and lit the candle off the
oven burner. Anyway, I said, it's
probably raining hard over there. And
who can walk around Piazza San Marco
without stepping on the pigeons?