Contemplating Those Barbarians At The Gate
Not The Hunsbut The Uns
have burst through the bronze doors
of The Empire. The city sprawling
with Face-tious whim. Friend then unfriend,
like then unlike, tag then untag – et
ce tera, et ce tera.
The Latin phrasescattered and mumbling in chunks of marble.
Its syllabic frieze –
left shattered by the fray.
And even more unredeemable:
the old ways
of telling time and story,
developing photo or thought.
And then comes the womanon the corner – a lit professor
some say (both cigarettes and books)
who doesn’t owna tablet or cell. Un
She talks on a landline, listensto Maria Callas spin
Bel Canto on an old
phonograph , (all cherry wood)
and jots things downwith pen or pencil. Her handwriting
a map of script.
All routes leading back
A classic mind
in pristine condition –