In Umbria

The poem

Once upon a time I was sitting outside the cafe watching twilight in Umbria when a girl came out of the bakery with the bread her mother wanted. She did not know what to do. Already bewildered by being thirteen and just that summer a woman, she now had to walk past the American. But she did fine. Went by and around the corner with style, not noticing me. Almost perfect. At the last instant could not resist darting a look down at her new breasts. Often I go back to that dip of her head when people talk about this one or that one of the great beauties.