Saturday, June 11, 2011

The beach [an homage to Pound's Lygdamus] (06.08.2011)

We all saw you, Lygdamus,
eying the plebeians, regardless of age,
from your smug expression atop the life guard seat,
neglecting your duties,
oblivious to those thrashing bodies becoming stiff with panic.

I, too, must confess:
my gaze did waver
over the ample busts of Venus' daughters
in two tone bikinis and stomachs
Praxiteles spent a lifetime attempting to chisel.

Though Polemarchus was unimpressed
after all he said:
"It is the hidden allure which pulls me",
as he proceeded to wade into the bitter lake with his sandals and heavy formal toga.

Though not at gymnasium, I nonetheless found myself shirtless
with Apollo's envy darkening my skin
- though the foul balm kept it
from becoming the color of contempt.

Lygdamus, who are you to give us the evil eye, as our desires were left covered over in privacy? Though that placid red head, with skin to make any marble cutter weep, which had made herself a sandy couch, tiny lyres up to her ears, was indeed unescorted, but we felt she may have been enjoying her singular solitude among the chaos rivaling the agora.

Because even you, Lygdamus, must agree, no matter what might have transpired, we would have left at some point with desires unfulfilled. We just decided to enjoy the catchable discus and our own company - an isolated coterie among others, just enjoying the heat from Hades' door left open by Persephone's hurried departure.

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