The Invasion of Italy at a Memorial Day Dinner Party

The Italian maps are collective:
Each screaming out its given
Demographics and it is really
History but not. Of
What then? There are cemeteries
In Anzio, Monte Cassino…

One remarks
That landing "there"
Was "hell". His own arbitrary "There".
His arbitrary "hell"

They are speaking of mortars
Now. It is impossible
To discount
The lessons from emigration he
Adjusts his thickened glasses, shells of protein over his
Oddly shaded eyes.

Outside, ducking
Like a marathon runner before,
Two hands pressed against
The black pavement watching
The mourning doves
Amongst the greenly-shaded
Growths of late spring. If the ground spoke like they do, in the
Vibrations of passing cars, all full of four wheels
And stories.

If I were Italian,
Would it make a
Difference? The doves
Are off-dun, iridescent when
They are male.

All together common, and happy of that.

I am not
At a map of
Italy now.