The Furnace

Buried in the heart of every house
I’ve ever lived lie furnaces. Remote
creatures. In the summer months, their mouths

gape at us through grilles and grates. They note
our comings and our goings like inmates
in an asylum. Apparitions float

before them: volleyballs, paper plates,
Italian sausage, chicken thighs, white
wine, sunburn, Bactine. The furnace waits

in icy silence, longing for the night
the frost arrives—the season of the cough—
when thermostats are turned toward the right.

That is when the fun begins: a moth
flits upward from the basement, eyes aflame,
surprised it’s burning, as its wings drop off.

Words as Birds

Here you are, and here am I,
Divided by so many miles.
Across the space between us fly
A flock of words. They are not birds,
These words. At least they try.

The People of Pompeii

How vigorous their bodies still appear,
How beautiful. How the volcanic ash
Freezes, softens, then erases fear,
Like snow. They’re running for their lives: their last

Meals still digesting, still flexing muscle,
Still fending off bacteria, as if
All this activity was quite normal.
Pompeian life continues: fountains lift

Sparkling water up toward the sky,
Naughty boys chalk penises on walls,
Slaves hold cosmetic mirrors, dishes dry.
Perhaps a bowl left on a table calls

A hungry fruit fly down, his greedy eyes
Full of figs the air will fossilize.

Death

For you and I, it’s theoretical
Right now. I’m writing, you are reading this.
Unless I’m much mistaken. Possible—
But still—highly unlikely. I exist,

You exist, this ink exists, we are
A product of the squiggles on this page.
This is a Birth Certificate. Bizzare
As that sounds, there it is. Go and rage

Against me down at City Hall, go change
Your name, call in the army or police:
I tell the truth. If you find it strange,
Your opinion doesn’t matter in the least.

I might have written Death Certificate
Up there. I gave you life. Enjoy it.

The General

Appalled by all the savages abroad,
They found a race of sheep to rule at home;
They give the fleecing of their flocks much thought,
Needing togas for their parties. Rome

Provides a tailor-made example: men
And women with this ancient fashion sense
Fill the legislature. What they spend
On orgies! Their political events

End in cries—More circuses, more bread!
Let us see our neighbors being stripped
Naked—defiled! So much for Rome. You’re dead.
My armies are alive. We are equipped.

We pass through every river, like a test:
The Delaware or Rubicon? Guess.