Dante II

Milton would say
They nourish the earth
While their souls let fly to Heaven
Though the grass is dead
Where bodies lay blocking the sunlight
And the sky is filled with nothing
Save for clouds and bombs

The first ring of Hell
Is the interior of a cardboard box
Filled with healthy kittens
And unbelievable static electricity

Shiva with his many hands
God with his many misdeeds
And Buddha with his clean-shaven face,
Fine tailored suit and top hat
All sit cross-legged
Awaiting the sunset, absorbing the afternoon glow
Awaiting the dawn
Of the fall of the sun
All with crossed fingers
Awaiting the tax-free holiday

And so it would go
The second ring of Hell
Is in the handle
Of a too-heavy spoon
Which splashes soup and makes a fool
Of both linens and China

Milton would suggest
That the pink unburied flesh
Might, by the plucking of birds,
Be borne onto Heaven
But there is something in the sulfur
The tinge of lead
That fends the flutter
Of even the most ambitious wings

The third ring of Hell
Is the back when looking in a mirror
For unlike the unseen side
Of the moon
The tuxedoed dark side
Is mirthlessly there
And unobserved

The gods drink sake
From brass bells
While John prepares the toast and marmalade
And George notices
The floors need sweeping—
Shiva quickly deals poker
And Buddha’s eyes hide
Behind binoculars

The fourth ring of Hell
Is scarcely larger than a large mouse
Or a small cat
It’s there
And it’s always there

Milton opens his mouth
As if to say something before closing it once again
Buddha hands him a flask
From his breast pocket
And there is no doubt
That the night will be dark as whiskey
And longer than any can imagine
So God tends the coals of the fire
And Shiva’s eyes linger across the expanse
As he tends the smoke screen

The last five rings of Hell
Are fingers
Fingers that don’t know
What they do
And that are slowly counting
Down from five
To three
To none