the t-shirt vendor who bought me lunch
and wanted to take me in his car
to La Spezia, despite my very tall
fictional finanzato waiting back home.
Only my nose, sunglasses and hat
breach the water, which itself is not
much camouflage, clear as spyglass.
Italian grandmothers wear thongs, but Istill feel exposed in a boyshort bikini -
pale, alien, and alone. Luckily,
I swim well, and business is slow.
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