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Poetry

Nietzsche Said

by Mike Lewis-Beck

Turin was the only city worth living in
but he went mad anyway on a Sunday
walking around Parco Valentino in January,
with wet snow falling on a pewter afternoon.

Men of a certain age with dogs in tow
stand at the gate of the Valentine Palace, now
built for luxury flats, without a ballroom.

Still-marking the dead space stands
a dance hall at the park edge, its bright color blaring

The door can be opened but the dancers lack music,
and the ticket taker yawns.

From The Literary Nest, Fall 2019.