This is an improv off of the piece "Tropics in New York." Its a stanza and I found the ten syllables with an alternating rhyme scheme and 5 stresses per line. I liked the idea that McKay uses throughout this piece about displacement. To me, this piece is a person remembering what the tropics were like because of the things that are happening in his home town of New York. I went abroad this summer and that displacement became relevant to my life once I returned home to Atlanta. I'm still trying to get the hang of this form thing.
Penne Arrabiata, foamy each
cappuccino and gelato for days.
Wine and beer and fizz water within reach,
feast for twenty, A la fruita: nine ways
stuffed in chairs of wicker, laughs ring
through rooms, now empty of English
and filled with Italian and cars they bring
over Spoleto's hills, small mounds of wishes
glimpsed only once. Fleeting as I now gaze
at the label of a frame, a road known,
the one down the hill to Vincenzo, maze
never leading anywhere: until now.
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