It would have been wonderful
to have sailed on Fellini’s ocean liner
even with the stink of pestilent rhino
and the risk of a deck invasion
of terrorists disguised as Serbian refugees
but even more to have passed through
the gray shadows of Antonioni’s postwar Rome
despite the malaise of sequestration
that permeated every scene
and even in my old age I would look back
on that era as a highlight of my life
strolling with you as my Monica Vitti through
the decaying checkerboard of fascist architecture
that dreadfully failed attempt at majesty
and we would perhaps lie together
in a stifling room with no air conditioning
naked on top of the bedcovers
as the wind billowed the curtains
through an open window
not really understanding what had
happened to the world
or what our place would be moving forwards
strangers even to ourselves as color
began to seep back into a changing universe
layer upon layer like a collage
of tissue paper pasted over a monochrome base
slowly melting and hardening
towards the refulgence of a future decade.
Paul Ilechko is a British American poet and occasional songwriter who lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in many journals, including Bennington Review, The Night Heron Barks, Southword, Stirring, and The Inflectionist Review. He has also published several chapbooks.
Image: “Italian Sun” by Kaleb
Pine Hills Review 