roman holiday
in my head
you walked
across the sacred squares of Rome,
papal fancies, golden towers
(scraping the inside of my skull)
and on
until the Tuscan Sun
addressed your spine
and wished it good day
caressed your shoulder blades
then stopped,
attention drawn instead
to your doll’s face
as your dull heart
-so pumped full of no mood-
thought nothing of me
Oliver J. Dibben is a poet who works between London and Cordoba