Naviglio, evening

Lights are like gangs, marking their territories.
Colorful lories sip the nectar of
many stories
and many stories
pass thatched oblivions to
many stories spanning spinning
fractals of BC’s and AD’s
and trollies and gin bars
and bicycle-bell ringing gelatos
in flurries of hurried unioned Europeans,
mostly mid-thirty.
Today’s now tonight, and tans of millions take flight
on Max’s and heels
and fermented delight.
— P. Kalachev