He has lived under me for over two decades,
When he first settled in he only had a piece
Of cardboard a flowered blanket and a sheet,
A book and a moustache, deep blue eyes.
No one knew him nor did he speak
The language of the country to which he fled,
From Germany to Italy an alternative voyage
Of the damned mooring to my protection.
Through the years he grew a beard and a knack
For charming passers-by recount them their future,
Aligning fortune-telling Tarot cards on a wooden trunk,
Surreptitiously retrieved a night near smelly rubbish bins.
Unfolding successions of seasons saw him furnish
His wall-less abode with a camp bed and a chair,
Keep the place tidy sweeping public lands
A broom and a dustpan flea market acquisition
Paid with alms.
I have seen him age collecting old books to resell
Turning his charpoy into a library at dawn,
Jibber-jabber with strangers and local retailers
Reinventing himself from scratch with a smile.
Twenty-five years have passed 9125 days,
This morning a lady acquaintance asked him why
Did he choose to live under me and never move
Somewhere else maybe quieter or even back
To where he came from after all this time.
He vigorously shook his head a glimpse of terror
On his suntanned wrinkled face and assured
The freedom he had found on the streets of Rome
Was a luxury unpertaining to his native soils.
His distinguishing peaceful look restored a sip of wine
Equanimous he concluded with a question and a plea.
“I am so gleeful here why would I ever leave?
Please enquire no further let me offer you a drink.”
They raised their paper cups toasting to a king’s life
Without the hassle and the burden of the reign.
[Dedicated to Ditmar. Featured photo: Homeless by artist unknown]