Does the empty hand of Zeus
and flexing arm prepare
a thunderbolt perhaps for those
who cross his empty stare?
Leica on paunch, a man draws near
looks, adjusts rimmed glasses,
hoists trousers, pats his belt,
grimaces, turns and passes.
A heavily moving form strolls up,
strong in leg and bulge in eye,
surveys the haunch and delicate veins
which cord a handsome thigh.
Then a youth bends down to inspect the feet,
toys with camera, seems confused,
his blonde, tight-trousered Swedish girl
admires and seems amused.
The god meets not the response,
as formerly when he
plunged his fiery vengeance
in the mad Aegean sea.
Authority’s decree to all
is: Pray Do Not Touch,
but none now bow in prayer
or see the writing on the wall,
when they cross that empty stare.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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