Vesuvius by Michael Perret

after Actually’s “Vesuvius”

I.          Canto: Woman

It’s a hot day and there’s dust in my eyes.
Fan me with an olive branch, oil my thighs!
The sun’s so hot, the volcano’s alive,
Love has me on hold—I need to revive!

“Can I share my new poem with you, dear friend?”
“Quickly,” I say, “I have money to spend.”
“Says the one who has everything.” “Be kind—
I want, I desire. Venus is blind.”
“Gaius is a fool, my dear. Where is he?
He should be escorting you, not me!”
“With his wife.” “She is lovely.” I hit him
Gently. “First my poem, then spend spend spend! Hymn
To Venus—obviously…” And he sings,
And the forum walls echo with such things
As Are they freedom? Are they a duty?
The delights demanded of your beauty?…

“Is this why we’re here? An import of slaves?”
It isn’t, but I smile, and my smile saves
Me from admitting how aimless I am.
“Barbarian men… Let’s watch the exam.”

I watch your movements up upon the stage.
I see how your muscles reflex and rage.
They inspect teeth and skin and all below…
“This body,” I profess, “I need to know.”

Can you love if you’re not free? He’s a slave,
No… No, but then the earth shakes and a wave
Rolls beneath our feet. “Pompei welcomes you!”
The merchant cracks at his wares, and a few
In chains, on display, go weak in the knees.
And while they founder on fear’s open seas,
Thick and steady as an oak tree you gaze, unfazed
And I implore you, Meet my eyes, ablaze, amazed
By your magnificence. I never fall
In love, I only burn inside—“From Gaul!”
The merchant trumpets, “and this one is brave!
Vesuvius!” he rechristens the slave.
“Pure molten metal poured into this mold!”
I buy you for triple your weight in gold.

II.        Canto: Slave

Better to have been left to smolder, dead
On the battlefield, a soldier instead
Of a woman, a whore, her ember blown
Up into a flicker, a baleful groan,
But a lifeless body, an empty shell
All the same… Inside there’s nothing but hell
Masquerading as a peaceful mountain,
But I am not ignorant, that fountain
Pours fiery rain, and so I’ve been renamed—!
But Vesuvius rolls over ashamed…

III.       Canto: Woman

“Well, how is he? your barbarian man?”
“Tell us everything!” “Tell us what you can…”
“With friends discretion’s a terminal vice:
Spill it all, goddess. Was he worth the price?
And I mean in bed.” “What else could you mean?”

Down on my knees, looking up, I demean
Myself before him—How can I say that?
I beg, but you ignore me, I bat
At your balls, grab your cock, I make it hard,
I suck, I want you—and yet I’m barred
From your heart, that pool of liquid metal…
Or so I see it. And so I settle
On “brutal”, on “uncivilized fucking”,
“Like breaking a horse”, “enormous”, “bucking”.
Their eyes are so wide, so I keep going,
“To him a hole’s a hole…there’s no knowing…”

But I can only wish it were true. You’d
Rather bleed, stripped, whipped. “Look up at my nude
Body! I command you to look! I—I
Demand that you hold me! Hold me!” I cry.
You won’t listen to me. You’d rather bleed.
I command you to hold me: “See this deed
Of ownership? Hold me! Now!” And you do,
Vesuvius… I know you don’t want to.

Can you love if you’re not free? He’s a slave…
Next to you, in our bed still as a grave,
I ask myself, lightly touching your broad back.
You flinch at the pain, my fingers draw back.
Vesuvius, I could take this disdain
If it poured from your heart like fiery rain.
I could weather your hate if from above
It rained with a passion and burned like love…

IV.       Canto: Slave

It comes to nothing when I say my wife’s 
Name, when I say, “Your tongue is like a knife’s
Edge castrating me from my future, my
Past, my family, my village. When I sigh,
And you think it’s out of pleasure, that breath,
Involuntary and hard’s for my death.
You’re fucking a ghost—in love with a shade.
In place of your tongue, I want a real blade
Next time.” But you hear none of it. Your knees
Scrape against the dirt floor. I beg you, “Please—
You give but what you take you can’t conceive
How empty it leaves me!” I beg you, “Leave—”

V.        Canto: Woman

Gaius hears of you and the things I said.
It turns him on and he wants me in bed,
But I don’t want him—I’m in love with you—
I’m in love with you—I’m in love with you—
I repeat as he has his way with me.
“Do you love me?” “Can you, when you’re not free?”
He sees through me—he sees straight to you. “So,
This barbarian man, I’d love to know,
(He’s my competition after all)…”
“No!” I interrupt. “…How he fucks—this brawl
You’ve described—But I’d like to see it!” I
Shake my head. “Not you. Julia would die
If she saw her husband’s mistress, a slave’s
Dick in her mouth.” I get up, but he waves
His hand and grabs my wrist. “Stay,” he insists.
Nothing comes to the woman who resists
In this world of men.
                                         That night I’m so sad.
I know you hate me, that you think I’m bad,
But I’m so alone; you’re my only good.
Hold me, I think, knowing you never would
Freely. You look up and then look away.
My shoulders convulse, my power gives way,
I sob into my hands…into your chest—
You’re there, you hold me, my whole face pressed
Into your muscles—I can barely breathe—
I’m yours, crushed beneath them, they flex and seethe.
When you kiss my lips, I forget to be—
Forget to breathe—all of your weight on me—   

VI.       Canto: Slave

I think I understand, that I’m no fool.
This is Rome’s tradition brutal and cruel:
I’m a gladiator now—to the death!
And at night when I hear, under your breath,
Sentiments of contrition, it’s for this.
You don’t want to lose me to the abyss.
But that’s precisely what I plan to do:
To let myself lose, even though in you,
I’ve found someone more powerless than me…
In our love it’s not me who is not free.

You come in again with tears in your eyes.
They’re oiling me, down my arms, up my thighs.
I smile at you—I’ll miss you—this is fate.
I rise, they’re leading me out, you yell, “Wait!
Vesuvius!” You run up, take my hand,
Hesitate—but then you embrace me, and
Whisper the words you’ve taught me in my ear:
“I love you.” I smile, my smile to your tear.
“Te amo,” I say, and realize despite
Eminent death, I’m getting hard. The sight
Of your eyes overwhelms me: little pools
Of sadness and desire, breakers of rules—
Who are we to love each other? “Farewell,”
I say in my tongue. And trying to quell
My untimely arousal, beckon death.
Behind me your sobs are choking your breath.

VII.     Canto: Woman

I meet you at the door. I’ve wiped my eyes.
I have no choice, I have to share my prize.
In Rome, this temple of money and whores,
You’ll never be mine, I’ll never be yours.
But then, the fear in your eyes tears me back
Open. Vesuvius, I watch your back
As you enter the hall, welcomed by cheers:
“Hung like a bull!” “Like a swan!” And their jeers
Are indistinguishable from their praise.
I long for an earthquake, to see your gaze
Again, above it all, but all I see:
Tears in your eyes when you look back at me.
There’s a slave girl, naked, but for some beads.
You have different languages, different creeds—
“Show us how barbarians fuck!” they shout.
“A hole is a hole!” You try to get out—
I can’t help myself, I stretch out my hands—
But only Gaius sees and understands:
My attempt to escape my state has failed.
I want to die—I want to be impaled
On you as I watch what you do to her…
After, you claim your full grant of liquor.

Epilogue

An earthquake in the night and I falter—
My sacrifices fall from the alter—
Venus and Hades leave nothing for me.
They take you away when you drunkenly
Hit me. My cries, misinterpreted, for
You—“Vesuvius!”—from the tiled floor,
Are the same cried at the foot of your cross.
You’re half-dead already, from the blood loss,
Your eyelids, your lips are just narrow slits.
When you breathe the hiss comes out in short spits.
“Which of your gods marries wisdom to death?”
You ask me, your words have almost no breath.
Your legs are still running with the blood of
Castration—I long to show you my love
By drinking it, licking it with my tongue.
“Our wedding…” Your words are barely wrung
From your body. “…Your slave.” I cry, “My king!”
“Power is an unpredictable thing.”
I hear you say, Vesuvius, namesake
For the volcano that makes the earth shake.
We catch a glimpse of it in the distance.
It’s dusk, and we offer no resistance.
Is it real? Neither one of us is sane
When it, Vesuvius, pours fiery rain.

Michael Perret is a poet and translator from Austin, Texas. His published works include The Chimera and Other Dark Poems (2023), The Decadent Book of Babylon (2024) both from Curious Corvid Publications, Ennui Sonnets (2024) from Bottlecap Press, and Octavia the Quadroon (2021) from Éditions Tintamarre. He also provides vocals for the French language noise pop band Marking & Plating, and the ambient goth project Mortalities, links to which can be found at his bandcamp page: michaelperret.bandcamp.com.

© 2025 Michael Perret. All rights reserved.