A Day at the Colosseum
The air is torn by trumpet blasts,
Suppressing frenzied conversation.
Mars himself retires aghast
As life gives tongue to death's oblation:
'We who are about to die
Salute you, Titus Flavius!'
(By stifling nightfall none survives
These 'classic games' with gladius.)
Amid the audience's shouts
For feats that rate the entry fee,
Dark 'motivators' dart about
To titivate the butchery.
And here, with trident, net and truss –
All relics of Etruscan lore –
The nimble retiarius
Ensnares the vizored secutor.
It's clear to all: an ankle sprained.
'He's down!' they cry. 'His sex exposed!'
Along the bleachers, necks are craned
To see the cruelest death imposed.
NOTE: The Flavian Amphitheater, called the
Colosseum by later generations, was opened
by the Emperor Titus in 80 CE, and seems
to have been used to stage sadistic "games"
until well into the seventh century – despite
the bans that were occasionally proclaimed.
Unlike Other Boys ©2009, Alan Ireland, http://poetry.2hell.com | Index | Next poem
