By Peter Mullen
The ruins of Athens are cast up by the Thames;
These fallen cities the graveyards of their gods.
Similar in hubris, whether to blaspheme the oracle
Or second-guess the futures in commodities.
A yellow light arpeggio in the stream
Reflecting haunted buildings
Given over to Cronus and Aphrodite
It is past lunchtime so
The priests sleep and the traders carouse;
Only the ferryman still exacts his fare.
We are alike in our demise,
Cynics cursing the polis;
Sophisticates despising civic pride
When a people forgets its manners, it has died.