They are riding bikes without holding the handlebars.
They are peeling apples and pears before eating them.
They are fetishizing Japan and
Drinking before dinner.
They are kissing in public
And they start with the right cheek.
They are learning their respective dialects
And expressing opinions at most costs.
They are hovering over their children
And hiding behind their parents.
They are flying south, going to the sea
come summertime, if they can.
They are depending on their umbrellas
and praying for their families.
They are baking desserts for their doctors
And neglecting paperwork.
They are going home for lunch,
Coming back when they see fit.
They are spending time in front of their vanities.
They are cursing behind the steering wheel.
They are reaching across Apennines of difference,
Finding friendship in most places.
They’re working too hard and
They’re worrying, passively.
They’re speaking to me, eager to seize,
And they’re calling each other beautiful.
They’re touching and shouting and
Teeming with resentment,
Releasing and running
and coming home.