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b y   t h e o d o r e    b e s t


: ii


The plough sinks deep but iron strikes
The mutiny of Cadmus’ men as
Emperors made from currency lose purple to the noose.
They fall to the point of their own device.
These feign the peace with glutton tongues
And the fat ‘no war!’ invites the barb.
Come they, the fiscal fails beneath the
Pestilence of bribe.

This hour of captive serfs but a
Penney to the mayor whose rich loam
Folleys to the war. Come pale
Cross, Constantine from vision pours
Cement and people to the crook in need,
Their discord wedding, bloody to the board.
Yet the wrenching moves on
Four hundred past the chiming nail,
The split too great beneath the oar of
Nephew, cousin, twinned obsessions.
Heathen Vandal, Visigoth invade
Until Alaric thrusts his greatest mane
Between Rome’s lofty gates,
The capital a wreck of arrogance.