Walk Down Tamburino

While from my house,

I could once walk on my own two legs

down that cobblestone road

called Tamburino,

immortalized in Brockedon’s

early 19th-century guide, 

with a view of the town

in the distance, 

these days I need three, as in the sphinx’s riddle.

But since even that,

as things go now, 

has become too precarious, 

I can only do so,

remembering. 

---

My walk begins

where the old Roman,

and then medieval, 

way is cut across

by an unpaved dirt track

just below the reservoir

that provides the city with water.

Two large cement blocks partially

block the passageway 

so that only the narrowest of cars

can slip through 

and use it as a shortcut.

Sparse grass grows up

between the cobbles.

A misstep on that uneven trail

can bring you to your knees

although it soon becomes a road

with houses on the right. 

One of the first is that of a former mayor.

At times, in passing,  

one can hear 

the sounds of a piano tuning up. 

The uncurtained window, 

reaching to the ground, 

reveals piles of enticing books.

Water constantly trickles into

the large tub right across the way,

offering my dog a welcome drink.

---

Above, on the electric lines

doves line up, notes of an autumn song.

Further on a bush with star-shaped yellow blossoms 

hangs gracefully down over a wall.

Behind it, the small lawn is sometimes plowed up

by a night-time visit of a boar

rooting there for who knows what

much to the chagrin of the owner. 

The large tree overshadowing the way

is a corbezzolo or strawberry tree 

and I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a large one

elsewhere. The red fruits, 

belying their prickly aspect, 

 lie scattered on the road. 

Still further down a man is hoeing

his rows of beans and tomatoes.

We exchange greetings 

and he hands me a few ripe red tomatoes. 

On the left the road branches off,

into a dirt pathway with a few fig trees,

proffering their sweet and sticky fruit. 

Right above is the Girarrosto

where we have had our

Santo Stefano in Agosto dinners

offered by Carolina.

---

Still further down, on the left,

a bench sits under a tree

inviting sitters

to rest their tired feet.

The road here branches off, moving up

past carefully tended vegetable gardens

to the back door of the cemetery

where a small chapel with a menorah 

above the doorway

stands outside the entrance.

The former convent set against the cemetery wall

now houses students

who go off each day to dig in the past.

No danger that the inmates

on the other side will bother them.

It is after all a cemetery.

The small piazza fills at given times

with cats, and more cats,

of all colors,

waiting for their daily handouts.

---

On the road that leads to the highway,

an easier route for anyone coming fram the town, 

there are more cats, administered to by a man

who has become their guardian angel 

in memory of a son he lost.

Back down along the cobbled road

past what, judging from an apse, 

was once a church.

It was never finished

for the road it was meant to flank

was moved over to another site.

---

Its marble doorway now graces

a church in town.

On the left further down,

before reaching the bar,

are troughs where the housewives

used to wash their laundry. 

They still contain water

but sheets are no longer 

beaten clean on those stones.

Tamburino ends here at Bar Obelix,

coffee, cigarettes, bus tickets,

the site of a love story

where a Scotsman drew his love

close and kissed her

to the applause of those

taking a coffee break from work.

The small building down below the bridge

that crosses what used to be a stream

serves as a hangout for young people. 

It goes by the name of Tamburino. 

On festivities votary candles in aluminum pans

 are set along the low wall. 

It will be up to some good-hearted soul

to clear them away the following day

as Tamburino gives way to Gabelletta.