The weary gladiator enters
the colosseum, original arena
for the blood inclined,
dull gladius and polished helmet shimmer
to the crowd behind,
and his opponent’s favored, with a javelin
and a smile so kind
that were he penetrated by his weapon,
well, he wouldn’t mind,
for he has had enough of escalation
and the Roman grind
and getting sponsors all the flesh of melon,
eating just the rind.
So, now he leaves his body, he has left
the unentwined
to resurrect a world in which the stars
and the thumbs aligned.
M. Anthony C. is a poet based in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Pulsebeat Poetry Journal 