You pose within the dull window
ready to tell the truth to Roman
hecklers and punks, the ones who'd
rather believe Caesar and lay a
few coins at the feet of Jupiter.
The foreskin part went right past
them. Never played well in Ephesus.
Some ancestor of these Roman
punks has taken a slingshot
to your image and popped it full
of holes, making you vanish a bit
each day, but always a piece
remains. They haven't given up
and neither have you.
-- David Giroux