Tin and Me

In the evening on the Riva I tipple with Tin Whose bronzed throat by now must be drier than the stone of Brač dead summer ... so I must do the work of two dedicated men, Serious work, Serious work, Drinking the vine, Singing the brotherhood of men, Moaning our fate, In a style already half forgotten. Far enough into our cups We may put our heads together and whimper "Io, Io papapai!" But just in pose, In solidarity with those gone before, drinking as it were from that common cup, As we remember our childhood in the sun and golden grass Of Brač... Imotski... Skagit Valley...