Two Poems

How The Fuck Do You Say Termini!

They stared at us in Trastevere
the taxi drivers who did not understand us
as I held you in my arms for the last time

we could not say Termini
we could not say Termini
but they could see the opera

and leaned back into their language
to fully appreciate how much it hurt
oh the delicate and human grief of it

then one stepped forward with grace
and understood how we said Termini
we pulled you out of your wheelchair

and stuffed you into the Roman taxi
the taxi drivers cheered to see love
conquer inability to say Termini exact.

Death comes looking for me –
Screaming!
With a sharp sword.

With a soft word.
With a private and quiet
tap on the wrist.

Death comes looking for me
with an in-depth questionnaire
of peculiar interest.

Such particular questions.
What can I say to Death?
I will say Yes!