Milan

Milan

Puffy eyes, unblown hair,
wear the same clothes everywhere.

Wake up to the noisy street,
bug bites on your sandaled feet.

It makes my ride on "twenty-five"
not such a chore. I'm more alive.

Wake up by four, be working by six.
Put on a smile; I've toast to fix.

Bus at three, with a sure knee
and in the door by quarter to four.

But when you've gone from there to here,
to there, to here, to there,

your more content when your at home,
and in your old pink chair.

YOu think about the ladies, on the bench in Levanto.
You wonder how much laundry they did fore they could go.

You think of all your hostel friends, from Paris to Milan,
and wonder if their traveling with all the same clothes on.

They're back at work in their own town,
a little more content,

Remembering all the things they saw,
and wonderful places they went.