You can still see the fingermarks,
Three indentations where mighty Zeus
Pinched off the island, squeezed,
And hurled it at presumptuous Typhon,
Squashing the monster flat under Ischia
Where he still rumbles, resentful,
Sending up smoke plumes,
And the occasional eruption.
He must have seen it coming
A great dark mountain hurtling through the air
Getting bigger and bigger
Typhon must have tried to dodge
The incoming island, but was pinned
To the seabed, hot and unhappy,
Unforgiving, unforgiven,
The incensed heart of the volcano.
The slopes are verdant,
The cliffs rise sheer out of the sea
The towns are pink and gold and white,
The beaches echo with happy laughter
Little boats slip in and out of the blue harbours,
But the fingermarks remain on the mountains,
An uncomfortable reminder
Of what still bubbles underneath.
21st October 2021
