Florence, Loggia dei Lanza
By: Thomas McDade
Mid the Prudence and Justice columns,
seven bell-bottomed folks share a squat
wall by Cellini's Perseus and Medusa.
The lapdog in the mix signals locals—
college students? Fido apes a sphinx
aside a pair of lovers, I suppose.
The bearded fellow's limp arm drapes
his sweetheart's black sweater
like half a water-logged stole.
They're as cold to the fabled figure
as the ancient bronze is to them.
Behind this crew a tourist studies
Bellini's diagonal Rape of Polyxena,
a pensive fingertip on her nose.
Her friend eyes Medusa's body-free
head and wonders perhaps if the gore
dripping from her neck looks more
curly wig? Does she imagine a vandal
painting the flow a distinctive red?
An elderly pair relaxes on a bench.
A passing shopper pauses to check
the contents of a big gold bag.
The pooch yips for attention
but his group is occupied
with the duo dancing wildly (lewdly?)
by a grey / white building stage
left as if mocking the stalled
breast and genitalia on display.
It's as if they'd been enchanted
by the Bacchus statue on a Bridge
just four minutes away.
That reveler grips a bunch of grapes
that could better pass for artsy blood.
The flaxen haired woman end of row
escapes the lusty scene
flips her eyes skyward
casts myths of her own.
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