Rome is Burning
       

I can't blame Nero for playing the fiddle

while watching his city fireball.

Sure, there was blood on his hands

turned powerless now

except for churning out tunes like a devil

dancing on a hot-oiled griddle.

It's not like everyone can hear the frantic

chirps of crickets.

We crank up our music at safe distances

from one another, take refuge

in front of a Blu-Ray Mesmer.

I mean, isn't this the stigmata of what we do?

All hail to purchase-power, to lifelines of credit.

All hail to the power of fire.

So play, Nero. Play that fiddle.

Let's break out some Boom Chicka Pop and watch

the world go—poof

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Copyright © 2020 Eman Hassan All rights reserved
from Raghead
New Issues Poetry & Prose
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission