Etna

Winter unwraps a lolly and begins to suck.

We are curled by an icy tongue into a nub.

The long range telephoto lens extends the bronzing oil

But there’s not one pair of perky royal tits to rub.

In the village under Etna October clouds come in.

The volcano shivers in seismic sympathy.

Apartments crouch to rubble to outstay its love.

Next day the sun comes out.

Everybody else is fled or dead. Lava drools

Down Etna’s cheeks, red then grey then black.

My wife I hadn’t noticed went. Was it before or after

All this hot volcanic juice was spent.

The toilet walls shout loudly to themselves

Punctuate me  Go on  Do

I care  I care  I cry  I seethe  I you

The toilet is the last thing standing in this town.

Volcanoes have big bubbling heartache too.