My Waif Poem by Denis Mair

The hard poem I've been wanting to write
Resembles a beggar-child in my mind's eye
Wandering the streets of Rome after WWII.
He has big, gleaming eyes.
An American soldier gives him chocolate
Sneaks away with him to roam the city.
A school-leaver makes the best tour guide
Especially in a place with many ruins.
The soldier brings the boy nylons from the P.X.
You can speculate on these stockings in Rome.
Maybe the kid has an older sister at home,
Or maybe he has no home at all.
That child's eyes can pull your heartstrings
His money-angling tricks will make you laugh.
In normal times such a clever child
Could surely make something of himself.
For a time the American soldier is tempted
To adopt the boy and take him across the sea.
But red tape in the military is three times thicker
Than civilian bureaucracy.
Later, the soldier is discharged and sent home;
One day he sees this headline in the paper:
"Youth Gangs Run Rampant in Rome"
And the next wave of Mafia activity
Is now expanding to American shores.