I was in a bar outside
the gates of Pompeii,
it was already morning
and as the curtains began
to close on the moon and
the stars were turning off
their lights, she lit a cigarette
and as the smoke swirled
in the sound of mysterious
jazz I thought of Vesuvius
looking over us like some
viscous god. And between
the reflection of midnight
drunkards and broken hearts,
I didn’t know if it was the way
she held her glass or the way
she put it to her lips that made
me think she knew something
about love that I did not. She
looked at me and said something
in Italian then she looked away
crossed her legs and lit another
cigarette, I guess she said
where are you going?
I whispered Palermo …
Clay.M