Heat Advisory for Rome and Surrounding Areas (a Poem)

There is a nest of them rotting somewhere under
                the Colosseum. Resident hornets come out 
                         sometimes in the summer, and they are furious
and they are starving. When it is sweltering
               hot and the streets are lined with seventeen
                         different versions of the same cart selling
Coke and lemonade to the tourist whose wallet
               was just stolen twenty minutes ago and they haven't
                         noticed, the hornets crawl into people’s ears
and into their Burberry handbags and every stolen
               thing, and they sting and they bite and your skin 
                         is like the inside of a blood orange and it’s just 
nature. Some people never go to Rome.
               Some people only hear about it from 
                        Travel and Leisure and some people
 never go back. Some people sip on an eight hundred dollar
              cabernet after visiting the Colosseum and send 
                        a postcard back to their friends: Having an amazing
 time, wish you were here.

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