We drove all day on dusty roads to Xian
in the Shaanxi province
to see the clay men.
The army is deployed in large archaeological pits.
Our guide, a Chinese beauty, marshals us from the front
like any good general.
Her voice is a dulcet lagoon
in this desiccated place.
We all notice that her silk cheongsam
clings to her embroidered,
peach of a bottom.
The arsenic-poisoned emperor died as mad as a hatter,
believing a metalloid would grant him endless life.
It`s difficult to tell if his megalomania arrived
before his craziness, or after
but they buried him deep where insanity is timeless.
As we file out, I look back.
The clay spear carriers
the foot soldiers, the dusty officers
even the horses,
all of them seem to be stifling smirks -
their eyes latched upon
a heavenly peach, no doubt.
Categories:
metalloid, poetry,
Form: Blank verse