In this morning’s Meditation
I thought of the waiter
In the outdoor bar in Florence
How did he get to that place
Why did he leave his home
Where did he live in Croatia
Whose national football team he loved
Whose people he was so proud of
Whose needs he could not yet satisfy
Where does he go to in Firenze
When his day shift is completed
Or does he work late into the night
Surely his shelter
Is not in a Medici palace
Or even a four-star five-star hotel
His spirit comes alive with conversation
He is sharp with a swift humorous retort
Which makes the four of us smile
Yet he doesn’t quite share
In the shelter of our covered table
From which soon we will get up and leave
Is this his vacation workplace
Does he have family, children perhaps
I hope he finds a shelter which suits him
