Boy, who had tinsel for teeth, copper wire for lips, fine pewter for eyes,
Sat listlessly at Milan’s train depot, waiting for the locomotive
With three passenger cars to stop; offer him a ride to Rome.
Boy, when his limbs had flesh, with hopes the size of China,
Read Plato, Aristotle, Paul of Tarsus, set out with an actor’s verve
From just this side of North Hollywood. “I am Homer,” he thought.
But Boy did not know that he was not Homer.
He was, in fact, destined for something Homer could not achieve.
But right now, he needed to board the train, get to Rome,
Rest for an hour or so while the sleeper car clacked away southward.
Aboard, he floated through dreams of puppy dog drool, wide cliffs
Covered in oversized ferns, aquamarine pools deep with cold water,
Piles of mangos, melons, pineapple, bananas.
Stopping at the train station, he awoke refreshed
As he stepped to the platform
To perform the play of his life
Clinking, clunking, and rattling away.
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