-Pimm’s Bar, Rome

It’s 20 Celsius and 23:10

and I’m drinking my Tom Collins wondering

when the house jazz band will quit screaming the same song

they’ve been beating for fifteen minutes,

if the Italian girl sitting at the next table will take off her fur coat,

if I will be able to sneak a couple more drinks before he realizes

I’m too drunk to walk home too drunk

stumbling to the bathroom pushing through the crowd

struggling to undo my zipper not understanding

when the man asks me if I need help

saying grazie when he undoes it for me

but his hands linger and rub at my open zipper.

His lips press against my face then he pushes

me towards the stalls I resist and leave

the bathroom deciding I don’t need to pee anymore

resting my palm on each tabletop as I stumble back to my chair

finish Cody’s drink to forget about the man who fondled me

but the roughness of his hands won’t leave my mind

I order two more rounds to drown the thoughts

about the texture of his face rubbing mine

Then tripping back home unable to face

the sun or Cody who keeps asking what’s wrong

I say nothing until we’re home, he tries

to pull me in for a kiss but I push away

to sit on the balcony where I see

the man from the bathroom walk

past the apartment then spots me sitting

he waves to me, and I flip him the bird.

Cody shakes my shoulder, tells me

we’re leaving for the Vatican in 30 minutes