Rossellini Poem

Voyage to Rossellini

I'd like to spank them both, pull down
his pinstripes, her French lingerie.
Even the museum in Naples, the bronzes
and marbles, meant less than a cocktail,
a cigarette holder, a suit for divorce.
Is it a Bentley they honk when pedestrians
with groceries amble too slow?
Nuns below the hammer and sickle pro vota
divert our eye, gathering like teams
on a pitch, educated, murderous.
How to take a snapshot and not condemn
the very flowers? We are smirk-lipped apes
wrapped in jewelry and dark glasses.
No wonder love's stand-in is sleep.
It's rumored Michaelangelo restored it,
The huge carving. But the hound is all
I remember, teeth filed and sanded,
bounding toward some ecstatic human flesh.
If there's any truth, we're sick of it all.
Bring out the prostitutes, hirsute and cheap.