In 2004,

when the Red Sox won the world championship

and elated I jumped into the air

with my son in front of our TV

without understanding exactly

why the whole stadium roared

after one of our players

threw the ball gently to another

and I said:

High time to learn

the rules of this silly game;

when I woke up

after my surgery in Mass General

and asked my wife

about the election’s results

before even finding out

the outcome of the operation

and I said:

O well, just another four years

— still under the influence of

the sweet pain-killers;

when I got stuck in traffic on I-95,

while I was listening to a news report on NPR

about the Bartholdi Museum

in Colmar, France

dedicated to the creator

of the Statue of Liberty

and an Italian tourist visiting the site,

in the most melodic tone said:

Libertà che illumina il mondo, ha!

Invaders, torturers, empire builders...

You are a country of darkness now;

you don’t even deserve

the discolored copper of this beauty

— first it sounded like yet another

European highbrow haughtiness,

then I felt a dagger penetrating my belly.