Poetry

The Zappeion

My world today a park’s iron bench
Of strips wrought into circles with
Wide gaps between, the pine grown through,
And kept well-trimmed, is like a top’s

Extended handle Zeus pumps with,
Invisibly, spinning the whole
As fast as earth to keep me safe.
But housed next door in ruins, his

Once monumental temple built
By Hadrian, he might decide,
Piqued by our long neglect, to rest
His hand and fling me to the wolves.

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