from Try Track (Anello di prova, Raffaelli Editore 2016)

by Lucia Brandoli


You told me that men laugh in four tempos,

in simple tempos, that men, all of them,

are like basketballs – and you’re right, indeed

– and women are like soccer-balls. And if

you pay attention

they laugh in three, indeed,

breathless, discarding, losing

ground under their feet.


And these days I feel like a tennis-ball

on a football table–motionless, yellow

and totally uncomfortable. Like at the Monk,

where nobody wants

to play tennis-table

for fear

of loosing or ruin his status around

a Burberry trench

with so much strain

built up. And then

I wonder why

the hell he get

the socialist badge.


Rome today, Brisbane tomorrow.

Eight hours after, eight hours before,

together, it’s no big deal:

two months are not ages,

neither a year.

It’s winter even there, but only at night,

while you piss outside

at three in the morning

in your pajama

looking at Three



A special thanks to Federica Bacchelli