A couple of newer poems.
And I think, as Tucson residents--
I love Tucson, by the way, and if there
were "I heart Tuscon" [INAUDIBLE] bumper sticker,
I would put it on my car.
[LAUGHTER]
But Tucson in the summer has something
in common with this place, Palermo, in Sicily.
And that's the title, "Palermo".
It was foolish of us to leave our room.
The empty plaza was shimmering.
The clock looked ready to melt. The heat
was a mallet striking a ball and sending it bouncing
into the nettles of summer.
Even the bees had knocked off for the day.
The only thing moving besides us,
and we had since stopped under an awning,
was a squirrel who was darting this way
and that as if he were having second thoughts about crossing
the street, his head and tail twitching with indecision.
You were looking in a shop window
but I was watching the squirrel who now rose up
on his hind legs, and after pausing
to look in all directions, began to sing in a beautiful voice
a melancholy aria about life and death,
his forepaws clutched against his chest, his face
full of hope and longing, as the sun beat down on the roofs
and awnings of the village,
and the Earth continued to turn and hold in position
the moon which would appear later that night as we sat
in a cafe and I stood up on the table
with the encouragement of the owner
and sang for you and the others the song the squirrel had
taught me to sing.
[LAUGHTER]
[APPLAUSE]
The sun can do things to you.
[LAUGHTER]