Bus reality show
* * *
Your shrill young voice
made everyone jump
and gaze at you in discomfort.
You shouted “Buona giornata a tutti!” (1)
with such a velvety smile…
And then you began to sing
accompanied by your Mother
who played the accordion.
No please! Not a melancholic
Spanish song “Besame, besame
mucho, como si fuera esta noche
la ultima vez !”(2)
You even sang out of tune ...
but with so much passion,
as if the high pitched voice
was needed to keep away your fears.
Not a single smile you stirred,
no smiles no …
but tears, from these eyes of mine
because of the accordion,
because of the sad song,
because of the struggle of life
because of your courage
because of the indifference
because of the memories …
because …
I don’t know why actually,
but the sound of the accordion
always throws me into deep melancholy.
They say my Father played it,
but I have never heard him play
or did I maybe, through
my Mother’s womb?
Not a single smile you stirred,
no smiles no …
But tears from these eyes of mine.
Yet, I am grateful for this
performance of life’s reality show,
due to the fact that my car
was on strike that day …
“Have a nice day!”
* * *
1) Have a nice day all!
2) Kiss me, kiss me passionately, as if this night it was the last time …
