w.h.oden
the fall of rome
the piers are pummelled by the waves;
in a lonely field of rain
lashes an abandoned train;
outlaws fill the mountain caves.
fantastic grow the evening gowns;
agents of the fisc pursue
absconding tax-defaulters through
the sewers of provincial towns.
private rites of magic send
the temple prostitutes to sleep;
all the literati keep
an imaginary friend.
cerebrotonic cato may
extoll the ancient disciplines.
but the muscle-bound marines
mutiny for food and pay
caesar's double-bed is warm
as an unimportant clerk
writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK
on a pink official form.
unendowed with wealth or pity,
little birds with scarlet legs,
sitting on their speckled eggs,
eye each flu-infected city.
altogether elsewhere, vast
herds of reindeer move across
miles and miles of golden moss,
silently and very fast.