as the marbled hills shook
And her temple came down
With the legendary brothels --
The woman, how she knew
to disappoint.
But trade was booming,
roses grew,
a beauty almost superhuman
Every house had surrounded
itself with.
How could they be blamed
Forsaking her harsh patronage,
her lush but scanty pleasures?
Why rebuild her temple?
Rome didn't even know where they were!
It was the perfect cure
to not remain
invisible.
Still, her furore knew
no end,
Bodies flash-fried and asphyxiated
to better be preserved
In the kindnesses of ash.
We know these volunteers
For not having had the choice
to be the crash-test dummies,
The final demograph
Of the past, as one-trick pony;
Every stone-fired pizza oven
bears their brand.
Vesuvius holds firm
against the many schools
Of painters with their clouds
As they wash across its surface
ever indented, ever firm.
It's become a thing for
obliterating marks
That never seem to take --
the horror is too strong,
The ending incomplete,
forever unresolved.
