Küçüksu Palace

Downton Sulton sits on the bank of Bosphorus antiquity

between a garden and a pay-as-you-go WC.

With an entrance of regality in Hamptons white,

Aslan's ivory brother guards the ivory-esque door.

Leave your proclamations and political scrolls on the mat and come inside!

An Ottoman ottoman for your weary feet,

how far you must have travelled to get here.

Was it a horse-drawn carriage from the far east?

Or a double decker behemoth from your hotel?

Emerald city glass glints with electric blare

instead of the old gas glow.

These chandeliers hang high enough for the maids

but too low for the wide eyed Italian football team

that ducks to move towards the door across the foyer,

a door that leads nowhere but symmetry.

The titan columns hover in each shadowed corner,

imported Smurf marble

imported serf labor,

while the empty fountain gurgles in reverence

for good times past

for Hamam baths.

The kings, dukes and prophets that longed for its mystical muddy water

Skinny dip jump into the fountain of youth.

The man of the house watches over his guests

à la Gatsby,

at a distance

from above;

but he has no need for daisies with the

concubines' tulip of the month club.

The fez-topped proprietor stirs his tea

while a tourist sips pepsi light.

Drinking, a pastime for Sulton number three,

although he never eats his chickpeas.

An hour will pass but you'd never know

with every clock set fashionably late to the top of the hour.

A tribute to a fallen comrade

the time for morning prayer

or

the work of a mischievous kindergartener.

A crane digs a new metro outside while faux rugs

replace faded rugs downstairs.

But inside the Sulton's summer sanctuary

progress will forever be frozen at 9:05 AM.