The Hall of Philosophers

See the busts of the great philosophers arranged

on tiers, displayed like death masks

or a museum of phrenology.

Only Agathonis has pupils chiselled—the rest

have eyes of milky white that watch

as tourists take notes or snap photographs;

their faces whispering a slow sigh,

Why bother resisting oblivion?

Some of the busts are numbered, though

in no particular order: 540 then 593,

560 alongside 535. Ancient graffiti

is scrawled at the base of one. No labels

or key to match them to their names.

A guard mumbles into his radio,

sits on the small metal-backed chair and stares,

waiting for them to speak.