Climbing up to the Acropolis
of Lindos on Rhodes,
we walked, a line of tourists
eager to see what death had built.
They say each morning as the slaves
shuffled along that same incline,
the last man up would be killed
to encourage haste.
Would they panic as the precipice drew near?
Would the last in line break into a run?
Would they push and scuffle not to be the last?
Or would the last man plod onward toward
the waiting sword, glad to be done
at last with stolen days.
Rhodes, Greece
1998