She, In Charge For Culture Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

The luxurious Queen in charge for Culture
now is sleeping in her relaxing-couch,
carefree in the arms of Morpheus,
of Mandrake, sometimes of Endymion
or of Epimenides for fifty-seven years.

They remove her art-jaw not to swallows it,
they assert that nothing can disturb her sleep,
neither the crowns of aria, nor the moans of actors,
nor the echo of peels or mosaics when reject paste,
nor the acute rattle of weasels in the Museum,
far from the crash of crumbling library
nor the voracious fire eating scrolls or paintings,
not even the fainting of a dancer cause of starvation.

- Your money, Maecenas, is spent for nothing,
no even to save the bare tree where the bird cries,
only where the In-Charge has her hair dressed.

I’ve imagined Lady of Ro in charge for Culture*,
venerable lonely resident in the rocky island;
she is hailed by anglers, Turks and Greeks,
airplanes, vessels, tourists on cruise-ships,
(perhaps hailed by unidentified beings around)
while she teaches Homer and Bible to her goats.



© JosephJosephides