In ancient times it commanded

air and light, fear and awe,

the bright blue glaze that blazed

under the red-raw Babylonian sun,

a dread procession of dragons, bulls,

and aurochs stood sentry at each side

as a river of human bodies flowed past,

seeking riches, refinement, or the comfort

of steady exploitation of their labor; lured

by the promise of oracles who could divine

man’s fate, but not of this restored edifice,

somehow smallish within the museum hall.

Crowds pause to admire and reflect

a second or two before moving on.

That girl framing herself against the gate

for Instagram, old Nebuchadnezzar

never could’ve guessed her fickle eyes’

allegiance to the pale blue tile

of her cellphone screen.

Behold the fate of the Ishtar Gate. . .

and well, whatever, who cares.