State-of-the-Art Salieri
By Tatiana Pahlen

Tortured by a slow poison,
allowing ire nesting a trap,
Inside his heart he erects a war zone,
inspiring jealousy to curb
and dwell on flatulence and treason,
turning green pastures into turf,
while honored by the cheering mob.

Sweating in the fruitless labor,
He labels the price for his measly skills.
In the center by using elbows,
he fails to shine among his peers;
His sense of self is largely airborne,
condemning brilliance is a needless risk.

May 3, 2005

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