Feast of San Gennaro

in an enclave, in a city
surging appetites
of an evening aroused

where hundreds of all ages
bustle in manifold directions
simple hopes suffuse the air
blending with the wafting
of grilled sausages
and sweet peppers
and the joyous stench of tomato
here a gaggle of pre-teen girls
delighting in their comradery
and newest baubles, flashing coy grins
dashing past dignified elders
strolling with Italian ices
their eyes never quite shedding
a liftime’s preoccupation
with matters mercenary or acquisitive
and mothers share observings
of character flaws or recipe refinements
while young men labor about
transporting essential items
from one booth to some distant other
all beneath an earthly glow
of whirring colored lights
veiling a godly sunset
pulling a throbbing sea of visitors
into the glare of vying attractions
as a single ferris wheel
unimpressive yet cheerfully urban
presides over all festivities
conveying the innocent
and the jaundiced and the jocular
in rotations of noisy sense fragments
operated by a lone detached laborer
who scans the horizons shrewdly
for something of personal interest

but here two scurry askew
wending somehow against the current
their agenda otherworldly
their intended feasts each other
their gesture less socialized
by the mass mood of distraction
her skirt daringly short
grasping hands as he navigates them
negotiating both tide and eddy
till at last the clamor softens
masses fade, voices dissipate
turning an opportune corner
hurrying the city blocks
stepping past an unlit alcove
barest token of privacy
she catches his thought
they weave into a bottomless kiss
thirty seconds satiated
among the brick walls
and fragrant garbage canisters
he drinks her perfumed exhale
they flirt on the boundary of swooning
till refreshed enough
they pâce to his car
efficient in their deluge of wanting
through the tunnel beyond metropolis
across miles of twisting routes
deftly speeding when allowed
his hand alighted, sensing
on her impossible luminous thigh
their memories of kissing converge
towards a singular mutual mission
in a dark warm serious bedroom
to partake in soulful gluttony
of houred moments past duration
until one another’s pillow
comforts them beyond desirous sentience
sailing into an unconscious peace

and finding her strayed hairs
of the morning
while she’s already off
to some anonymous clerical employ
he passes her bedclothes near his nostrils
and basks some moments
in fond recall of San Gennaro
while an army of competent street cleaners
scour the side streets in quaint Little Italy


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