Ode to Fallucci
Hey, Fallucci !
Your momma, she's well, Fallucci?
You laugh like hell,
Why you make such nice laughs?
You make the sky smile,
Where is that nice Italian boy today?
The sun shines, I see!
You give the old lady plums again,
No one wags their finger at you, Fallucci,
Many bags of plums, the best ones yet,
No money in your till, I see, no scolding,
You give plums, blue and perfect,
Nice and ripe, full of juice,
and sugar, so sweet like your soul!
Your momma would be so proud, Fallucci !
You make your grandfather sleep well, he rests,
He lays in his orchard silently, he smiles at the plums,
Laugh like hell, Fallucci !
You are your grandfather,
You are your son.
by Raymond Alexander Kukkee © 2008
Is that Incoming I hear?
Photo: Wikimedia commons