A Visit To Rome Poem by Sheena Blackhall

When I go down to Rome
It's stimulating, of course,
A change from gathering olives
Or walking behind the hairy arse of the mule

When the spear goes into the breast of a gladiatrix
I miss it, fiddling about with a sandal strap.
`Gaius, you're such a stick in the mud'
My cousin Flavius says.

It's true. Digging me out of my certainties
Is just like dislodging grit from a stone wall.
The lions' roar's exciting, I must allow
But I prefer an evening walk through olives
Leaves' whisper, and a sky studded with stars.

The powerful Senate's too much like the sun
Drawing ambitious moths into its flame
My land is too far off for scrutiny
My ploughshare cuts across no Caesar's veins