Juvenalian
 
The tourist fights his way across the city,
Sucking up the churches, fumes, and smoke
From Vespas showing not a wisp of pity
For those afoot and threatening to choke.
 
The local shoulders on, and ploughing through
The tourist mobs while brandishing "permesso!"
Rockets toward the prime spot in the queue,
Triumphant in his morning's first espresso.

Len Krisak

If you have any thoughts about this poem, Len Krisak   would like to hear them