79. Death in Venice on the Half Shell

79.
Death in Venice on the Half Shell

Foot-sore and 'mazed on Venetian streets, my Clytmenestra points.
"I see the dragon's tongue... just there, beneath the Lion Gate."
"How cute," I think. Of course, she has her ax to grind;
Once more I've made her miss the monthly maenadic tryst
With the 'Women's Will to Power Club'. Just so we can wander
Aimlessly in the foul Doge's breath of these Stygian canals.

I'm searching for the Tintoretto of my dreams; all brown shadows
And tawny light and sweet baby Jesus smiling on meae culpae...
I'm listening for a sigh of Casanova's, deep in his cell,
Recalling, atumble, all his vacant pleasures...
I'm watching for the Turkish fleet, scimitars and cannons poised
To destroy every gondolier, every marble balustrade, every hope..

"Fuck these tourists," she says. Only an old fool would trust
That leering smile. "Let's go back to the hotel and do it up
Against that cheap armoire. Let's do it, me on top, 
Inside that faux-Baroque tub with the little lion's feet."

What can I say? She knows too well my tastes. I nod and make
A mental note: When she starts her downswing, duck.