Cicero the motorcyclist
like all other days
stopped at the church
as usual...
at Santa Maria la nova...
the street was absolutely depopulated...
Naples had not yet woken up...
only the pigeons were wakeful
and the smog was too full...
Cicero parked his Ducati ®white
A Panigale...
By the kerb...
And went inside...
The pebbled path...
Red soft...
And those flowering trees
They greeted him in delight...
he saw Father Mackenzie...
Standing at the altar...
Calm...
In white...
His flowing gown
Spread Light...
And the altarpiece above seemed like a poem...
Cicero bowed
his head touching the wood...
And Father Mackenzie stood
Smiling He asked:
'what do you do with your bike?'
Cicero looked up ...
Curious...
Silence reigned like bliss...
he...the motorcyclist ...
Cicero by name...
Walked up to kiss
Father's soft palm top...
'i do a lot of things...
Burnouts...bunnyhops...wheelies...
Christs...'
Cicero muttered...
'and you love and respect your bike?'
Father asked...
Smiling like the morn...
'ovviamente...'
Cicero murmured with conviction...
'bene...'
Father Mackenzie replied...
And He started walking towards the door...outside...
Where by the gravelled path
Beside a flowering white tree
Trembling soft in the breeze...
White Panigale stood...
Father went there...
Cicero followed Him
And he stared...
Curious and dazed...
The Father
Planting a kiss
On the front visor...
Cicero came forward and knelt down
his head touching Father's flowing white gown...
The morning had a calm
And Sunshine had all the warmth...
The smog seemed receded quite...
The light new born filled the air
And the pigeons hopped...
On the street...
Where happiness like a blessing dropped...
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