Castellammare di Stabia

A typical hairpin turn in Castellammare di Stabia

Here is the poem I mentioned in my last post:

Castellammare di Stabia

 

by Mary Lou Burke

 

Steep streets, too narrow,

gray stone pavers, worn smooth by shoes, and donkeys,

now little cars with banged-up sides and

motor-scooters of all sorts, some shiny and new,

taking hairpin turns with a honk of a horn, so tight

most cars must back up to make it round them.

 

Laundry hangs off balconies from apartment buildings

that provide sweet shade from the hot Italian sun and

the people are friendly, neighbors chatter with neighbors,

and the owner of the orologeria is not unhappy to see

an American whose cellphone won't tell time here. She

speaks a little broken Italian to be met (sometimes) with

a little broken English and a sale (mi fa uno sconto??)

 

Good food, friendly greetings, strong hearts,

and fireworks light up the rarely-quiet nights

celebrating a birthday, perhaps a wedding, like

a mini-private Fourth of July; and music and singing

make me smile, not leaving me with an urge to call

for the police, or a new ordinance, but to

join the party.