He was sworn against divorce,
While she had had two marriages already.
They were together for only eight years.
In his seventh decade he gave her a scooter.
She accepted, and rode around on it,
Through the mountain roads of Italy,
Floral dress, light shoes,
Half-dome helmet, no lipstick.
Just like in a festival film!
It was grand, our lives in the 1960’s,
Before corruption, before financial crashes, before the internet.
He did love her, you know,
But they never saw the other again.
Just an amicable split,
She riding, he farming,
Miles away from each other.
He’d grow flowers, and she preferred drinking wine.
Sometimes on the nights of a waning crescent moon,
I can hear her scooter pass,
And in the morning I can hear,
Him swinging the gates again for the goatherd.