History Speaks
He is almost perfect, just a chip on his nose,
a neatly bearded patrician.
His spouse is seriously damaged,
her face mangled by time.
In the museum two Roman busts
placed a little apart from each other.
I sense her mood; insight gives her words.
“I never loved him.” the marble woman says,
her one crushed eye tilts toward her consort.
“He was ever the highhanded martinet.
His original bust was hacked off,
it lay face down in the dust for hundreds of years
covered in goat . This one is a fake him.
I like him better.”
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
