Red Orange Juice Poem by Matt Mooney

The cypress trees that line the road are tall and trim:
Like sentinels of the forests and the fields
That clothe the Tuscan hills in green and gold.
Past the castle of Gargonza, near Monte San Savino
And many hairpin bends that tease you as you travel,
You reach the gates of Siena-a city lost in time.


It’s Gothic Square is strangely shell shaped:
Houses standing seven stories high above you;
Shutters drawn for coolness in the afternoon:
Faded, old and medieval, like a massive backdrop.


Weary now: we had climbed up earlier to the city,
Sometimes out of breath - not just from the beauty
That lay ahead or round about and down below:
The sun suggesting a long cool drink above.

On the cobblestones the people squat; children play,
Chasing the pigeons that fly low among them;
Red orange juice on the shaded restaurant table.