King George Palace
We shopped the Plaka after lunch, bought cheese
and apples, watched the other tourists: Turks,
Italians, Germans, and Australians.
I bought a Greek-made T-shirt saying “All
I know is that I don’t know anything.”
Pop Socrates, but lovely still. Tonight,
a friend recited verse from memory:
a rhyming piece he said he’d written in
his youth. Yes, this was after jugs of wine,
before the farewell hugs. All poetry.
It’s 85 degrees at 10 a.m.,
and breakfast on the roof: white omelettes, juice,
and Nescafé. Below, Syntagma Square’s
ablaze. There’s haze on distant mountains, haze
beyond the baked Acropolis, and haze
between my ears. Champagne and wine last night.
Hotel-room stemware roseate with dregs.
I think of Delphi, and my spirit starts
to rise. I think of all the ruins that
we’ve seen, and dream that I can age with grace.
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits two literary magazines at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, MI. Poems of his have appeared recently in The Wayfarer and Leaves of Ink. His chapbook In Stereo appeared from The Camel Saloon Books on Blog in 2012.