I took my ancient Baedeker to Italy
in an attempt to make my European tour
with a nineteenth-century frame of mind.
Despite cell phones and high speed trains,
despite jihads and Intifadas,
despite bomb threats and terrorists,
I went out with my blinders on,
oblivious—
or as is nearly possible without
taking both my eyes out—
oblivious to the modern world around me,
marching like E.M. Forster
out of the greenwood;
or like Ruskin
swinging my Seven Lamps
over cobblestones
and "night-cold grass"
lit by glow worms,
in places patinated
with rust and dust,
under the porticoes of the past
where rich and indolent ladies
would sweep their skirts
while hoping for romance.
I took my ancient Baedeker—
and my modern baggage—
to Italy.
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