Detroit

The triumphant notes
did not hold, but their memory
returns, disfigured, like an awful vendetta,
extorting us
to hushed whispers, then silence.
Heirs of gamblers,
foster-children of the god
unknown, we were born
for the long fall
and zip our coats accordingly.
In vain, you will have gnashed
your teeth over debts
of the fathers we disowned—
we will not repay.

Why shudder before tattered flags,
or empty train stations?—
the plague did not spare
fair Pericles, and barbarians vaulted
the walls of Rome. Our libraries,
stocked with folly, were torched;
their scant wisdom dispersed
to the heavens. Purple robes fray,
scepters grow weary, and your finest
parades will deliver the punchline—
may the joke not be lost,
or the devil take you!

Fortune will have her way;
yet will you promenade
through the rubble
to our campfires, flickering
in the distance. Together
we shall raise a toast—
to the tottering ages
and splendor that remains.