The vaporetto between San Marco

And the glass island of Burano

Is packed with bodies

June through August.

 

At the hottest part of the day they come

Clung to railings,

Tethered and straining,

Sweating into the space of one another,

A feter of sweetness and diesel.

 

Japanese teenagers, German couples,

Knapsacks and selfie sticks, others,

All stood still in the sun,

Breathless in their contortion, polite as steel.

 

You cannot see for bodies

Only feel the arrival

In the weight of the ship

And the strength of the sea,

The sound of the tethering ropes,

Rasping like horses

To work themselves free.