In Memory of Federico Aldrovandi
The Summer has just ended
But the Weather is still warm
On this Night of September
You say Goodbye to your Friends
You don't know it's a Farewell
Alone, You're walking back Home
A Smile on your Childlike Face
You are just eighteen years old
Never again You'll see your Mom
And You will never grow old
Federico Aldrovandi
Your Name could fit to
A Middle-Ages Knight
But you are just a Boy
Born in the Eighties
Caught in the Night
By four Murderers
In Bloody Uniforms
Who'd make blush
Neanderthal's Men
To Federico Aldrovandi (1987-2005)
His Mamma and his Papà
Vera da Pozzo
Paris, 26th September 2026
Poem and article by me, written on a whim (as all my poems and the most part of my articles here) and without Artificial Idiocy, of course.
Images below found on the Web. Credits to the anonymous persons who made them.
"Figurina della memoria" (Memory sticker) dedicated to Federico Aldrovandi, who was a supporter of SPAL, the football club of his hometown, Ferrara.
I will draw my own tribute to "Aldro" later, during this weekend.
Work in progress below: the whole black Bic pen drawing on my diary; I will colour it later this afternoon or (most probably, as today I have a message to send to a Good Friend) tomorrow morning.
"Nessuno è stato" ("It was Nobody") is a pun between the past participle of the verb "essere" (to be) "stato" (been) and the word "Stato" (State), because the four murderers were officers of the Italian Polizia di Stato (National Police) who never really payed for what they did to Federico Aldrovandi. One of the Murderers in Bloody Uniform was a woman: she dealt at Federico's legs with her truncheon, while two of her colleagues crushed the boy on the ground and the third one kept striking him; all of them were never expelled from the Police, and they came back to work (as it seems that authorised torture and killing can be called "work") in February 2014.
Morrissey has a song for every situation, and here is the one which fits to the murder of Federico Aldrovandi. There is no need to travel to Venezuela to find brutal policemen and policewomen: one can just walk alone in a quiet street in Ferrara, Italy, on a warm September night.
(C) Vera da Pozzo
(C) Italy is Mine
(C) Italy is Mine and It owes Me a Living
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