POETRY

A young boy pulled the bust

from the river, not knowing then -

the who, the how, or why or when

a great emperor had sunk

to such an ignominious end.

Heaving the darkened stone ashore,

rolling it proudly over cobblestones,

an erudite man of academic inclinations,

stumbled from a pub in time

to bump into the resurrection wagon.

Casting inebriated eyes upon the mossy fetch,

he belched a boisterous proclamation,

“…there, young lad, Hail Caesar!”

then stumbled off in a steamy fog of peptic beer.

The young lad, having read

a thing or two on his quiet skiff,

turned ‘round and headed back to the pier.