The tour guide will lead you in
It is an old house
Part of an industrial complex
Built to house those who worked
In the car factory next door
It was decorated in the sparse style
That one can find after the second war
Although it had many rooms and stairways
The view was no great piece of scenery
As it overlooked sleepy Naples
We are taken to the foot
Of one particular staircase
The reddish paint had long since peeled
And the white is dripping with black grime
It is a fool that glances downstairs
“She died here,” the guide will say,
“Some think she was pushed
But most experts say she did it herself.”
Did what? You wonder
“Fell.” Is the answer
Her name was Marietta Franzese
A typical name in the city
She was young, perhaps twenty
And not the prettiest girl
But she won somebody’s heart
You are quickly informed
That she never revealed the name of her love
All you know and the guide know
And everybody else as well
Is that her family objected
Mrs Franzese was a country girl
And her husband worked at factory all day long
They were both strictly Catholic though
The modern way of drink and sex
Was evil in their eyes
The knowledge that their only child
Was fucking some deadbeat apprentice
With no education and no hope
Infuriated Marietta’s parents
They raised a broom handle to her back
She would drink as well at trendy bars
And come home reeking of cheap cigarettes
The neighbours claim she was thrashed three times
But it was only after her nameless lover boy had fled
That Marietta took the plunge
“Some say he went off with another girl,
“Others think he moved to a different town,
“And a few think he found religion,
“But what is known is that his leave,
“Killed Marietta Franzese.”
Her story is only famous
Because her crumpled body
In floral print mini dress
And white high heels
Was the scandal of the year
When the guides points
At where she was found on her shoulders
Arms crossed and legs bent
You edge away from the suspicious brown path
That might be equally be rust or blood
There is little other reason
Why you or another tourist
Would be standing morbidly
In house fourteen
If were not see where she threw herself
You cannot wonder how she died
For the staircase in question
Had several separate flights
And Marietta in her suicide
Cart wheeled all three
