The Pose

Obligatory parthenon shot, you know, between the columns,
Highlighting sculptured friezes, a flyby transition to ye ol' B.C.-
Turn upon horseback and fire back, sending arrows straight
To you - pediment or impediment - ah, triangular entablature.
The camera sees it all.

Doric order, Ionic nostalgia, Corinthian history, and, "When was the
Last time you did something for the first time?" Eddie wants to know.
It's a different kind of truth, old as Athena, introscopic and satyric.
Whether in La Jolla or with Iktinos, Kallikrates and Karpion,
The punch line, the hook, the chorus, is the crown jewel.

Haven't been there in forever, literally; like a research manual,
Collecting dust and data, synthesis of incidental outcomes, you say
There are no coincidences, only truth, to you and your blues.
Renaissance man, I was there before, when it cost but one talent
To construct a trireme (fathom that) in the Peloponnesian War.

You'll never enter through the back door; gaze in, moving east,
Looking toward her cella, visual interruption erupts divine.
Chryselephantine goddess with her wooden core, draped in
Blood and fire, she's the woman, "Honeybabysweetiedoll."
Arrephores sewed her peplos for a year; your hagor elicits itches.

David sings, "A buck is still a buck in Shaghai," and, "Whole lotta
Shakespeare goin' on," as you cruise Chinatown in your mind.
Nothing's civil about war nor that coal tattoo; I'll stick to my guns,
But eighteen wheels brought a dozen roses too - an ideal apogee.
Posts and lintels make a nice classical view; Pnyx democracy rules.

© Ann Reinhardt Cantu, 02/11/2013