Last Day in Pompeii
By the time we felt the mountain’s breath it was too late; the great
molten wave was bearing down on the town with the viciousness
of a Roman deity, snapping its Ionic columns like toothpicks and
spraying its glittering mosaics with flecks of char. In the distance,
the crystalline sky was clogged with Vesuvian belches, wheels of
ash barrelling down Mediterranean meadows in heavy clouds of
brimstone, littering vast plazas with spiced dust and filling public
baths with flame. Shadows etch themselves into marble walls like
graffiti, eternal testaments to our collective fragility. We embrace
for the final time as we’re consumed, fossils of an ancient love.
Spencer Keene
Spencer Keene is a writer and public legal educator from Vancouver, BC. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in a variety of print and digital publications, including SAD Magazine, Sea to Sky Review, Across the Margin, 7th-Circle Pyrite, and Star*Line Magazine.
More: http://www.spencerkeene.ca
Comments
Nicely done, Spencer. I especially enjoyed.
Thanks for the piece.