kop8.jpgMassimo, your name is Massimo
meaning the maximum
he was a 68 rebel in Milan
he was a photgrapher of Vogue
he smoked pot
he never graduated or married
he loved books and friends
he was an adopted child of a single mother
he had a big motorbike,
big lips, big brown eyes and a perfect temper
flower power?
fantasia al potere?
We met at the barricades, streets, highways
I always thought he was too good for the world as it was
And too bad for me
He was always smiling and putting up with people he knew were no good
I thought the world will mince him
Punish the friendly smile on his intelligent face
Curse his tolerance of the bad as much as of the good
Make a fool out of a good person
God help me with my presumption and motherly worries
Thirty years later I met him in the streets, on a barricade with a book in his hand
He had the same placid peaceful tolerant expression of the world
He did not change, even though the world got much worse
Massimo ciao
He waved me with his both hands, of course he knew who I was, or was he just waving to anybody, everybody with that sweet smile untouched on his face?
And if he didn’t recognize me, does it really matter, what is the difference?