The Navigli Strays

Is this seat taken? No. I nod, he settles down;
A light-blue shirt, straw hat, and elegantly old.
Then smokes, how quaint—there’s something from another time,
When grace and courtesy was king, or so we’re told.

For those of us self-conscious, mumbling and dry,
Who miss their lines, forget their script and cues.
Who hope to grow adept in one’s own skin and shine
Like this, In dark cafes and secret rendezvous.

To my surprise we chat (I’ll spare you transcription)
And friendly talk tiptoes past ice and cream croissants.
So what was first assurance, worldly resignation,
Now gains a stately hint of loneliness and wants.

We plan to reconvene, with strange paternal feelings;
Then walk the grey canal our separate ways.
I waited there next morning, feeling rather sheepish,
And feeding sandwich scraps to errant strays.

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