When summer comes…
When summer comes, the Italians in droves
desert the cities and head for the country
and indulge in what they call villeggiatura.
For three weeks, perhaps, or much longer,
they go to an unspoiled salubrious resort
to forget about work and enjoy a rest cure.
Our village was too small for such tourism
so our visitors were few and far between.
Except for one man by the name of Leo
who invariably travelled, year after year,
by train from Rome – first class of course –
to a place that he called his second home.
With an ample girth, but light on his feet,
he could last all night on the dance floor,
which was at the back of the Station Bar.
The music alternated with the trains’ roar
but it did not deter our honoured guest
who, very skilfully, did not miss a beat.
Nothing was known of this mystery man;
he was very friendly but he kept details
of his private life too close to his chest.
We never imagined he could be an artist,
so it came as a surprise to see him in a film
playing the part of a bumbling chemist.
The excitement died down as we discovered
that he was not a real thespian but an extra
plucked from a crowd of curious onlookers.
That news put paid to the glitzy glamour
that interest about him had so far generated.
Dejected, he went and was not seen again.
Nothing is permanent in this world. Sic transit.
© Luigi Pagano 2016