Pompeii

I remember the faint smell of sulphur and sea water
in the shadow of the volcano
which poured out its wrath
of fire and magma; Urns of the Gods spilling over
from the very depths of hell.

I remember the uneven stone streets
carved by carts and chariot wheels
villas, bath and w***e houses; frescos half finished
in expensive red paint from crushed beetles
on walls surrounding empty silent rooms

I remember the skeletons huddled in their houses
unearthed from their graves for my prying eyes
and the rapid whirring of camera lenses
for proof of their existence, saying to me
“We are all nothing but skin and bone.”

I remember a dog with matted fur
lounging in the shade of a fallen arch
staring in the way that dogs sometimes stare
then shaking its head, making me wonder if my beliefs
were nothing more than old wives tales.

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