Summer has its summer smells

In Chicago,

But they’re all the wrong ones.

Yesterday I went to the Italian Cultural Institute

To hear an Italian journalist speak

About his coast-to-coast train trip.

I wanted to tell him

That I’m about to do something

Similar.

Except I won’t have a five-person crew

And the budget of a tv production.

I will be alone with my horse.

But I’m shy,

And I felt weird:

I was surrounded by loud Italians

Peeking at my notebook,

Eating meaty pizza.

I rode my bike back home

And made 

Tomato-garlic-basil pasta.